


by insensible degrees

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Based on, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Sense and Sensibility - Freeform, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: Arkport was just like every other small, rich town in Cape Cod: winding roads lined with picket fences wrapped in vines and surrounded by geraniums that separated the yards of houses that were small in size but outrageous in price. The town center was just two intersections with a convenience store, a mom’n’pop ice cream shop, a no doubt overpriced art gallery, and a handful of cafes and sandwich shops whose pun-filled ocean-themed names made both Blake siblings roll their eyes.
  “This is hell, this is hell,” Octavia sung under her breath.  “It’s just for the summer,” Bellamy said to reassure her, and maybe himself too.With their house foreclosed on, the Blake siblings don't have much choice other than to take up Marcus Kane on his offer to let them stay at his home on Cape Cod for the summer. At first Arkport doesn't seem like a place they'll ever fit in, but soon they find themselves pulled into the fabric of the town. And as the days get hotter, they also find themselves discovering how it takes a mix of sense and sensibility to weather the ups and downs of love, as well as its loss. { or, a modern day bellarke/linctavia au based on sense and sensibility }





	

**Author's Note:**

> No need to have read S&S to understand the fic - it's more 'inspired by' the plot than based on. There's also a [fanmix](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com/post/150341598562/by-insensible-degrees-fanmix-a-modern) if you wanna take a listen...enjoy!

Bellamy glared at the foreclosure sign on the front door of their house, anger and shame clenching in his gut. Though he supposed it wasn’t their house any longer, according to the bank. It still felt like theirs though–the house where they grew up, where he named his sister, where Octavia took her first steps, where he broke his arm running up the stairs when he was ten, where O sang karaoke to that song he hated so much non-stop two summers ago, where their mother spent her last days the previous winter. No matter who lived there, it would always belong to them.

He glared at the sign harder. Octavia stood beside him with a stiff spine. She was trying to hold back tears, so he threw an arm around her shoulders. As she tucked her head into his side, he felt her tense.

“We’ll be okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I got us handled.”

“I know.” She still sniffled, so Bellamy hugged his sister tighter. They stood there for longer and longer, until he realized the car keys were digging into his palm hard enough to be close to breaking the skin. With a firm arm still around Octavia, he guided her toward the car filled with the little they were taking with them. They hadn’t had much to begin with, but looking at their lives’ belongings in just the backseat and trunk of his four-door was still sobering.

Octavia kept her eyes on the house even as he pulled out of the driveway and cruised down their street--well, not _their_ street anymore. Bellamy couldn’t even bring himself to look in the rearview. If he did, his eyes wouldn’t just sting, they would water. Octavia was already wiping tears away angrily, and things never went well when more than one Blake was crying at once. So he bit his lip, gripped the steering wheel, and kept his eyes on the cracked pavement in front of them.

Eventually the road smoothed out as they pulled onto the main streets of Lawrence, which widened into the multi-lane highway that was I-93S. Octavia had stopped crying--though her eyes were still red--by the time they cut through Boston. She was playing games on her phone when he turned off onto Route 3. He kept batting her hand away from the radio as they crossed the Sagamore Bridge, insisting, “I’m not listening to Rihanna say the same words over and over again to a ridiculous bass beat.”

“You’re the worst.”

“My car, my rules.”

She just reached over and flicked his ear before going back to her phone. Twice more she tried to change the station from classic rock to Top 40 before they passed the sign that read _Welcome to Arkport!_

It was just like every other small, wealthy town in Cape Cod: winding roads lined with picket fences wrapped in vines and surrounded by geraniums that separated the yards of houses that were small in size but outrageous in price. The town center was just two intersections with a convenience store, a mom’n’pop ice cream shop, a no doubt overpriced local art gallery, and a handful of cafes and sandwich shops whose pun-filled ocean-themed names made Bellamy sigh and Octavia roll her eyes skeptically.

“This is hell, this is he-e-ell,” she sung under her breath.

Bellamy bit back a laugh, because he caught the Gilmore Girls reference (how could he not, considering it was the only show she would watch for over a year). Still, they were going to live here for the summer, whether they liked it or not. The social worker who had helped them through their mom’s illness, Marcus Kane, had been generous enough to offer them a place to live when the foreclosure notice had been confirmed. It was his beach house, which he said he only used on the occasional weekend when he could get away from the city, which wouldn’t be much this summer according to him. _No one to bother you_ , he had said with a grin when extending the offer. _And stay as long as you need, even after Octavia starts at BU._

As they passed through what seemed to be the majority of Arkport in a blink, however, Bellamy wasn’t sure they would take him up on that. A shitty apartment way out in Brighton or Malden that was worth way less than what he’d be paying in rent still had to be better than living in this overly manicured, picture-perfect town. He was grateful for O’s scholarships which would take care of her tuition, room, and board, but that was different; it wasn’t charity. She had earned it through hard work in athletics and the classroom. He hadn’t done anything to win Marcus’s generosity, just his pity. He wouldn’t take advantage of that.

“It’s just for the summer,” he said to reassure Octavia, and maybe himself too. The more luxury car models he passed on the thirty-mile-an-hour road, the greater his urge to turn his used four-door around and head back to somewhere that they wouldn’t feel so out of place. They were almost to Marcus’s, though, so Bellamy kept on driving.

Octavia swore when they pulled into the driveway of their temporary home. He shot her a disapproving look, but it was half-hearted because he felt like swearing too. Despite the muted grey siding and plain white trim, the house was an impressive three stories with a wrap-around porch. It sat right on top of dunes, and Bellamy could just barely see a wooden staircase zigzagging down through the green-gray grass to a private beach below.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” his sister said with a little more excitement, staring out at the ocean. “I mean, living right on the beach has to be great, right?”

Bellamy shrugged as he turned off the ignition. Frustration, anger, guilt, and shame started to twist around in his gut again. He should be able to take care of his sister for the few months they had left together without goddamn _handouts_ from well-meaning social workers. He should have at least put up a bigger fight about Marcus not letting them pay rent. Thinking about the mortgage payments on a place like this made his head hurt, but what was done was done.

Side by side, they grabbed what they could carry from the trunk and walked up to the house. The front door opened before they could even ring the doorbell.

“Welcome!” Marcus said with his usual calm, friendly smile. “You two made good time.”

“Traffic was light,” Bellamy said, stepping inside. He saw Octavia’s eyebrows rise, no doubt surprised at the very meticulous and sea-themed decor inside. It definitely didn’t seem like Marcus’s style, but he elbowed Octavia anyways. Their mother had taught them better manners than that, though the lessons seemed to stick better with him than his sister.

Marcus showed them around, and while Octavia seemed to relax with her usual rapid acclimation rate in new settings, Bellamy couldn’t shake the tension in his shoulders. This was somebody else’s house that they would be living in--mostly alone, except maybe on weekends Marcus had mentioned--and it didn’t sit right with him. The spaces were too big, too much. The kitchen was sleek steel and sparkling granite, the living room pristine white couches and a large flat screen TV. The only rooms that felt remotely comfortable to him were the third-floor bedrooms, which were theirs for the summer, Marcus told them once upstairs.

“Or for longer,” he reminded them with an extra glance at Bellamy.

Bellamy avoided his stare, instead choosing to set his bag down on the floor next to what would be his bed for the next three months. Octavia darted out of the room soon enough, eager to retrieve the rest of her things and unpack (or, more likely, dump all her crap on the floor and run out to the beach instead).

“Thanks, again,” Bellamy managed, throat tight as he stuck out a hand towards Marcus. “This is--a lot, and I know you wouldn’t do this normally. So thank you. We’re really grateful.”

Marcus shook his hand firmly, warmly, concern etched on his face. “I meant it, Bellamy. If you need this for longer--”

“I won’t.” He lifted his chin in a last attempt to hold onto his remaining pride.

Their host pressed his lips together and nodded in reluctant understanding. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Maybe we can all grab dinner in town later, on me?”

Bellamy grit his teeth and managed a tense smile. He couldn’t take much more of Marcus’ charity, but it was meant in good faith. Just this once, he could swallow it. “Sounds great.”

Marcus clapped him on the shoulder before leaving him to look around the white walls of his bedroom. Glancing out the window, he saw Octavia running right by the car and towards the beach stairs instead. With a sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sank down onto the bed. He propped his elbows on his knees, hands fisted on over the other and supporting his forehead. Eyes closed, Bellamy inhaled deeply, trying to keep the bitterness roiling inside him from bubbling over.

 _Just for the summer_ , he repeated in his mind, over and over until it matched the pounding rhythm of the waves just outside his new home.

* * *

The salty air rubbed Octavia’s throat raw, but she kept pushing forward regardless. She had to reach at least five miles today. Back in the city, she could run seven without even realizing it, but here even five was a struggle. It was the sand--kinder on her feet but harder on her muscles--that slowed her pace, shortening the time and distance she could manage on her morning runs.

The only upside of the increased difficulty was that it distracted her. It distracted her from her grief, over a year old but still deep (deep as her mother’s grave) and sharp enough to leave her feeling jagged inside. It distracted her from worrying about her brother sulking in his own grief, from being pissed at her brother for sulking in his guilt (he never thought he was _enough_ for her - she had stopped long ago trying to make him realize that, in fact, sometimes he was _too_ much for her). It distracted her from the constant reminder of being stuck in this tiny town for the next three months (college could not, not, _not_ come soon enough). Pounding feet and blood rushing in her ears as air rushed in and out of her lungs distracted her from all of that; it was a different type of pain, a different type of sacrifice. It was one she welcomed.

Water rushed in a few inches from her feet just as she picked up the pace. Grinning, she dodged lumps of dried seaweed and a forgotten bright yellow kiddie beach bucket. The music blasting in her ears drove her faster, even as her calves ached in protest.

_Five miles five miles five miles not much longer._

Octavia didn’t slow until she was a few yards past her imaginary finish line. Her chest heaved as she sucked in ocean air and exhaled humidity. As she walked along the shore, sweat gathered at her hairline and dripped down her temples, down the back of her neck. Despite the early hour, the summer sun beat down on the beach, already hot and forceful. The breeze was refreshing though, and Octavia turned her face into it, eyes closed and heart for the moment content.

She wrinkled her nose when the wind carried a new scent over to her that was heady, earthy, and a little sour. Looking around, she tried to locate the source of the pot smell. When she spotted two boys sitting on a navy blue blanket not too far away, she rolled her eyes. They looked pretty young, and given the fact they were smoking out in the open so early, she figured they were taking advantage of summer vacation and all the free time it afforded.

If it wasn’t so early, she might ask to join them. As it was, though, Octavia finished stretching out her calves and jogged past them on her way back to the house ( _the_ house, because no way was she even pretending Marcus’s place was a home--it was too huge and pristine for that). She caught the eye of the brown-haired boy, who did a double-take. Suppressing a smile, she nodded to them. The sound of one of them laughing followed her down the beach, and she rolled her eyes again. _Boys._

The next few mornings when she went out running, they were there again. Sometimes they were smoking, other times just listening to music. A week later, she finally did more than nod at them in passing. That morning there was no wind, but it was just as warm, so she was panting pretty heavily by the time she reached her endpoint. After cooling down, she braced her hands on her knees. The heavy air made it hard for her to catch her breath. So focused on evening out her inhales and exhales, she didn’t realize at first that someone was calling to her.

“Hey!” The brown-haired boy was waving at her with a gangly arm. Absurdly large sunglasses were perched upon his head. When Octavia slowly approached him and his friend--who was slighter and looked both slightly embarrassed and slightly amused--she realized they were in fact ski goggles that had been modified into sunglasses.

She grinned at the bizarreness of it and slung her earphones around her neck. “Hey.”

“You come here often?”

Holding back laughter at his intonation--which was trying for suave but ended up as endearingly goofy--Octavia shrugged. “It’s a good running route. Seems you come here often.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. “Oh ho ho, it appears you’ve been noticing me.”

His friend punched his arm then flopped onto his back. His quiet groan wasn’t quite quiet enough, and it made Octavia chuckle. “You’re the only two on the beach fully clothed most of the time. Hard not to notice.”

“Locals know better than to come to this beach for an actual day at the beach. I don’t think we would fit in with all the richy-riches who come here to ‘summer’.” After the boy lying down cleared his throat pointedly, the other one winced, correcting himself. “No offense, of course. I’m sure you’re the very nice richy-rich type.”

“None taken. And I’m here for the summer but only because of charity. No way my brother and I could afford any of these places. Not even when my mom was--”

Octavia cut off abruptly. Swallowing tightly, she glanced up at the sun. Bright lights stopped tears, she knew that. She hated that she knew it, and she hated the way her heart swelled (painfully, bitterly, sadly) at the thought of her mother.

“You got any other plans besides running?” The other boy asked softly. It wasn’t a smooth transition, but it was a kind one.

After taking in a deep breath, she managed to look back down at the pair and give an even answer. “Nope. I mean, I gotta find a job. Other than that…” She shrugged.

“Looks like your luck has turned then,” the boy with the goggles said, his grin growing again. “Nobody better to show you around. We know who’s hiring, who’s not, and who’s hiring but is a an uptight asshole.”

His friend punched his arm again, sighing dramatically. “Just because Sinclair fired you last year because he found joints stashed underneath the register doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“He didn’t just fire me,” he muttered. “He told my _mom._ I was grounded for all of last summer.”

“Hey, I got grounded too, remember? He told my mom too, but you don’t see me holding a grudge.”

They glared at each other at first, but then slowly, slowly each raised a hand. When their hands were at eye level, both boys rapidly self-fived themselves and then burst out laughing. Octavia watched them in puzzlement and fascination. She finally had an inkling of what people were talking about when they commented on how she and her brother behaved around each other: that secret unspoken language that exists between two people who know each other as well as they know themselves.

“Sorry,” the smaller boy said with a sheepish grin. “I’m Monty by the way. He’s Jasper. Figured you should at least know who the weirdos you’re talking to are.”

“I am not weird, Monty,” Jasper protested. Octavia couldn’t quite tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine. The way he flicked a few worried glances her way made her lean towards genuine.

To cut him a break, she plopped down in the sand in front of them. “Octavia.”

“That’s...original,” Monty commented.

“Weird,” Octavia corrected with a grin. “It’s definitely weird. And blame my brother. He got to pick my name.”

Immediately Jasper turned to Monty. “Dude, if only we had gotten to pick each other’s names.”

“You’re brothers?” Octavia asked sincerely. They didn’t look anything alike, but then again, people pissed her off all the time when they couldn’t seem to wrap their thick heads around her and Bellamy being siblings either. At the very least, the boys could be adopted.

“No,” both boys said mournfully. Then they laughed, also in tandem.

“We grew up together though,” Monty explained.

Jasper added, “Still live next door to each other. Got a suh- _weet_ communication system rigged up between our windows.”

Octavia started to ask if they didn’t have phones or something, but Monty interrupted. “You don’t even want to know how often our tech gets confiscated by the parental units. Jas and I had to find some way to talk to each other.”

“A couple of badass troublemakers here,” she laughed. They seemed to take her ironic tone in stride, grinning at her.

“The badass-est,” Jasper said, settling his goggles onto his face with a jaunty wiggle.

That had Octavia laughing even harder. Leaning back, she wiggled her butt around to make her seat of sand more comfortable. She might as well settle in with these two, because for the first time since coming to Arkport for the summer, she felt like she might not entirely dread the next three months that separated her from college.

* * *

Octavia snorted as Jasper and Monty lingered hesitantly in the kitchen doorway. “Seriously, Marcus said it was okay for me to have people over. Get in here.”

After several mornings of chatting with them after her runs and some afternoons spent with them at the locals’ beach, she had invited them over to hang out for the day. The boys exchanged on last wide-eyed look before cautiously stepping inside. Monty glanced around then down, grimaced, and knocked his elbow into Jasper’s just as he started to walk forwards.

“Shoes, dude.”

Jasper stumbled backwards quickly, toeing out of his sandals. Octavia sighed and traipsed into the house with her sand-covered flip flops still on. The white tile floor of the kitchen was already covered in sand from her earlier run anyways, and she would just vacuum before Bellamy got home and nagged her about being a polite guest. She didn’t feel like a guest here; she felt like a charity case, and somehow, making little messes inside such a pristine house eased that sting.

Bare feet slapping on the tile, and then the hardwood floors of the hallway, echoed behind her as she headed into the foyer. Jasper’s awed whistle at seeing how the house just kept going and going both forwards and upwards echoed off the bright walls and up to the second floor.

“How is it that I feel smaller inside the house than outside?” Monty wondered, craning his neck as he looked around.

“I mean, don’t you always feel--”

“Don’t say it.”

Monty glared as Jasper grinned, winked, and then raised a bent arm to lean it on Monty’s shoulder.

“You have to go on your toes to do that,” Monty grumbled. “It’s not actually funny if you have to work at it to make me feel short.”

“But you’re tall in spirit,” Jasper cooed, yelping when Monty pinched his side in retaliation.

“So do you want the full tour?” Octavia interrupted.

“I feel like even just breathing, I’m decreasing the value on everything in this house.”

“Great. Then no tour,” she replied, slightly relieved. Their awed attitude was starting to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t belong in this house, and she didn’t want them--her only friends here--to start associating her with it. Even if she had that kind of money, she wouldn’t use it to build something she only occupied for barely half of the year. She would just go, somewhere, anywhere, all of the time. “Except I should at least show you Marcus’ gaming system.”

The boys exchanged a skeptical glance. Jasper asked, “I just cannot picture the Kanester playing Mario Kart.”

Octavia raised her open hands up and said, “I’ll let you be the judge but--the man knows his systems and could probably whoop your ass in Mario Kart.”

Jasper scoffed, and Monty bounced on the balls of his feet. “Let’s see it then.”

Octavia nodded encouragingly before escorting them into the living room with the wall-sized flat screen TV, U-shaped super soft couch, and shelves filled with gaming equipment. Monty whooped and Jasper let out a strangled noise, and then the both of them were elbows deep in cords and consoles and controllers as they started hooking everything up.

“You’re welcome,” Octavia said in a sing-song tone.

Both boys turned around with huge grins and, at the same time, shouted, “We love you!”

She laughed and plopped down on the couch, putting the dozens of other rooms out of her mind as she focused on this one, with the two boys and games she knew she had no chance of beating them at, because it was the only way she started to feel even slightly comfortable in this house.

* * *

From the front seat of his car, Bellamy stared at the restaurant in front of him. The blue letters on the white sign over the door were faded, and the building itself had red paint peeling off the siding and a sagging frame that had seen better days. Haphazardly hung buoys and rusted lobster cages decorated the side, a fitting but completely unoriginal addition for a seaside eatery. In any other place, it would’ve been considered a shithole that only townies frequented. For a vacation town like Arkport though, it was a ‘quaint’ place tourists could eat and drink to get a taste of the ‘local flavor’.

To him, that meant more traffic and thus possibly more tips. Despite that perk, the thought of serving sunburned moms and sneakers-with-socks-wearing dads wrangling overtired, screaming kids all day and night almost made him start the car ignition again. There weren’t many other employment options around, though, not this late in the season. He wasn’t going to resort to using the two goofball kids his sister had been inviting over the house to find him a job. So it was The Drop Ship or nothing.

He couldn’t afford nothing.

That’s what he kept muttering under his breath, like a mantra, as he walked into the dimly lit eating space-slash-bar. Already he spotted two highchairs in use and a noise level that was far too high for the amount of people that were actually having a late lunch inside. To his right, in the distance, he could see a deck area littered with tables and umbrellas that looked over the ocean. At least the view was nice.

“Table or bar?”

When he turned front again, he saw a tall woman with sharp features staring at him expectantly. She was wearing all black, with a small apron around her waist. Her expression wasn’t unfriendly, but neither did it inspire confidence that she would go out of her way to help him out.

With a hesitant smile, Bellamy said, “I hear you need another server.”

“Busboy, was what the ad said.” She leaned on the hostess stand, watching him.

“I’ve bussed tables before, and I’ll do that if needed. But you’re in the height of tourist season and you’ve only got one,” he paused, glancing outside again before continuing, “two servers, which is far fewer than you need.”

The woman shrugged. “Maybe that’s just for this shift.”

“Or maybe your other server quit unexpectedly.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. “She didn’t quit. She got into an accident. Fucked up her leg and can’t be on her feet for too long. You cashing in on her misfortune?”

Bellamy sighed. When Marcus had told him the reason for The Drop Ship having an opening, he had been reluctant. He knew too well what bad luck hitting you head-on felt like. But if he wanted to stop living off charity, he needed a steady income.

Carefully he replied, “If she gets better before the summer is over, she can have her job back. I’ll be temporary, let’s say.”

“You’d give it up, just like that?”

He nodded. “Just like that.”

The woman considered him carefully for a few moments before sighing and straightening up. “First thing--if you’re going to work here, you better not be that much of a damn pushover with the customers. Give them an inch--”

“--they’ll be asking for their whole bill to be comped?” Bellamy finished with a wry grin. “I’ve worked service before. Trust me, I don’t let customers bully me.”

“Then you’ll fit in just fine,” she replied with a sharp smile of her own. “I’m Echo, by the way. Gina’s out on the deck and Miller is in the back cooking up whatever fried grossness people like to eat on vacation. You’ll meet Murphy later. He’s our bartender.”

Bellamy barely managed to catch the apron she tossed at him. “I guess my first shift starts now?”

She laughed. “You’re first shift started five minutes ago, newbie.”

Bellamy nodded and headed out to the deck to see where he was needed.

That night when he let himself into the house, his feet were swollen and his shirt had all kinds of grease stains on it. Having a double shift as his first was brutal, but his new coworkers had been nonchalantly impressed with his stamina. Gina had even given him a drink on the house, despite Murphy scowling at her for entering his domain.

Part of him hoped Octavia was already in bed. He was so tired that he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to give her the full rundown of his new job. As he crept through the dark hallways, he was a bit relieved to notice a bright glow and cheery cartoon sounds coming from the living room.

That meant Monty and Jasper were over, still as enthralled by the Kane’s large screen TV that they had co-opted for their gaming system. Bellamy quickly poked his head into the room to say hello and then a quick goodnight. The boys raised their hands in acknowledgement at the exact same time but without looking away from their game. It was a little scary, how good they were at that.

Octavia, however, drove her cart purposefully off the road and scrambled off the couch.

“You smell like a heart attack,” she said cheerily as she walked beside him into the kitchen.

With a roll of his eyes, Bellamy shoved her lightly before pouring himself a glass of water. His sister threw question after question at him as he gulped down the much-needed drink.

“It’s like any other food service job I’ve worked before, O,” he said once she’d stopped to catch her breath. “I was a waiter at a shitty restaurant in the city, and I’m now a waiter at a shitty restaurant in a small town.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” she deadpanned. “I’m just dying to try it out.”

“Remember this moment, when you come whining for me to sneak you free fries.”

Scrunching up her face, Octavia stuck out her tongue at him and he chuckled.

“Go to bed,” he said, mockingly stern.

“ _You_ go to bed,” she called out as she raced back to the living room.

He sighed, because after the long, unexpected shift he had worked tonight, nothing sounded better. And he was indeed going to do just that, even if it suddenly felt like his sister was the older of the two of them.

Two weeks later, Bellamy and his feet had adjusted to the long hours and humidity. He had invested in some heavy-duty stain remover too, though he swore he could never quite get the seafood smell entirely out of his restaurant t-shirts that Echo had provided him with. Murphy had stopped stalling on his drink orders as a form of hazing, and he and Miller usually hung out after closing. For two weeks, everything at his new job ran smoothly.

Then he got into his car one day just before noon, pulled out of the Kane’s driveway, and suddenly heard the _whump-whump-whump_ of a flat tire. Grimacing, he pulled right back into the driveway, grabbed his bag from the back, and started walking.

“I got a flat--gonna be late ‘cause I’m walking there,” he said as soon as Echo picked up on The Drop Ship’s phone.

“Christ,” she sighed. “You couldn’t have picked a worst time. Saturday lunch rush starts in thirty minutes.”

“Not like I planned it,” he muttered back. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Gina’s gonna be pissed.”

“Yeah, but she actually likes me so--”

“Fuck off, Blake. Just get your ass here ASAP.”

“Aye aye, cap.”

The phone clicked, and Bellamy chuckled, betting Echo was flipping him off at the moment. His amusement faded as he thought of the long walk ahead of him. He didn’t have a choice though, so with an annoyed sigh, he started heading to work.

The Drop Ship was a madhouse when he arrived, and Echo had him out taking orders before he even had a chance to grab his apron and notepad. Gina took pity on him and grabbed one of his tables so he could catch his breath after that. He later repaid the favor by telling her to take a thirty instead of a ten minute break. Echo had scowled at him about that, but he had shrugged it off. As long as all the tables were covered, their prickly manager didn’t really care who was on the floor. She just liked giving them a hard time.

Bellamy was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Marcus come in until he was already at the bar. His hair was wet, so he figured he had just come in from surfing.

“On the house,” Bellamy said as he slid him a beer.

Marcus smiled, took a sip, and said, “Did you walk here this morning?”

He jerked his head up from pulling two more glasses for one of his tables. “Yeah.”

“Next time you get a flat, call me or my mother. We’d be happy to give you a ride if you need it.”

“It wasn’t far.”

Marcus sighed in that way of his, well-intentioned but mildly exasperated. “Still, you can call.”

“I was fine, Marcus,” Bellamy said a bit shortly. “I’ll change the tire tonight when I get home, so--”

“I already called triple AAA,” Marcus said with a kindly smile that made Bellamy flush hot with embarrassment. “It’s all taken care of.”

“How much do I owe you?” He tried to sound like he wasn’t saying it through gritted teeth.

He waved his hand, then ran it through his damp hair. The smile grew softer, and Bellamy’s head started pounding. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Marcus--”

“Bellamy, don’t worry about it. It was nothing.” Marcus straightened off the bar, tipped up the beer in farewell, and then headed to the deck in search of a table.

The universe took pity on him and had Marcus sit at a table in Gina’s area. Even so, Bellamy immediately signaled to Echo that he was finally taking his ten. He didn’t even bother removing his apron, just headed straight through the kitchen to the back of The Drop Ship. He stared blankly out at the water for a few minutes, the soft chatter of early dinner-goers mixing with the sounds of the tide washing in and out.

Of course Marcus thought nothing of calling someone to come fix his tire. The money spent on a mechanic for something as simple as that was spare change to the social worker who was able to afford his lifestyle not because of his own salary but because of family money. Anger coursed through Bellamy because to Marcus of course it was fucking _nothing_. Someone like Marcus couldn’t understand that where he saw it as a kindness, Bellamy saw it as pity.

The sounds of the restaurant and the ocean blended together as white noise as he turned around to face the building. Clenching his fists together, he pressed them against the red wooden siding, feeling some of the peeling paint stick to his knuckles. He had only six minutes-- _make that five_ \--before he had to go back into the restaurant and smile at the tourists and vacationers. Bellamy leaned in, trying to tamper down his frustration. The wood was soft from the wear and tear of salty air, but it still bit into his skin. He pressed his right fist harder for one more second before drawing it back and giving the wall a strong, quick punch.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he shook his hand out. He could feel splinters moving around in the newly opened skin. “Fuck.”

“That was really stupid.”

Bellamy whipped around to see a girl standing there, staring at him warily. Blonde hair up in a bun, it glinted in the setting sun which cast the rest of her soft features into a little bit of shadow. Under her right arm was a notebook. She took a few careful steps toward him.

“Customers aren’t supposed to be back here,” he ground out. His hand throbbed, as did his pride. It seemed as if he was bound to make an ass out of himself today.

“Then good thing I’m not one.”

He sent her a narrow glare.

She just rolled her eyes, huffed, then reached out to grab his hand. “Looks like you didn’t do too much damage. Still--there’s a first aid kit under the sink in the kitchen. At least bandage it so Echo won’t grumble about the customers being disgusted by your bloody hand being near their food.”

“You know Echo?”

“I do.”

She grinned when he didn’t say anything else, letting him know that his expectations of her elaborating weren’t going to be met. That made him frown. She let out a little laugh.

“I’m here for Raven. Or rather Raven’s paycheck.”

“Oh.”

She raised her eyebrows, and Bellamy realized he had been staring. Drily, he responded, “Well, you seem to know your way around the place. Don’t think I need to escort you in.”

“Ah yes. Now I see why Echo hired you. How she manages to keep this place in business when all of her servers are--” Surprisingly she paused, as if searching for the right word. Then Bellamy noticed the slight flush on her cheeks, which probably indicated she was embarrassed by the right word.

Intrigued, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the building. “No, please. Go on. I want to hear this.”

“Irascible.” She tipped her head up. “All of her servers are irascible.”

“A big word there. Being studying for the SATs?”

“That was a few summers ago. And my score was good enough to get me into Harvard, in case you were wondering. I even survived a year there, much to my best friend’s dismay.”

The little tidbit of information at the end made him curious enough to ignore the flare of wariness at her mention of her lofty academic background. “What?”

“He wanted me to fail out so I could transfer to Columbia.”

He gave her a flat look, which apparently just amused her. “He misses me, even if he can’t say it like a normal person.”

Before Bellamy could respond, the door flung open and Echo stuck her head out. “You’ve taken more than ten. Gina needs help, and--oh, Clarke.”

“Echo.”

Bellamy watched as the two women stared at each other for a beat. Then Echo jerked her head, and Clarke--he turned the name over in his mind, wondering why he felt the urge to hear how it rolled off his tongue--abided by the signal, following her inside.

Bellamy took one last breath of salty air in before returning to the dining room. Immediately Gina thrust a full serving tray at him, barking (as much as someone like her could manage to sound coarse) out which table it belonged to. By the time he circled back to the kitchen for another load, he glimpsed the back of Clarke disappearing out the front door.

“So you met Clarke,” Miller said evenly as he slid some plates his way.

“Sort of.”

“Don’t worry,” he added with a grin. “She’ll be around more. We really thought she only came here for Raven but turns out she actually likes all of us. Even Murphy, if you can believe it.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Bellamy muttered.

“Aw, she’ll like you too soon enough,” Miller mocked.

Somehow Bellamy managed to grab the plates and still flip off the cook at the same time, which he was pretty proud of himself for. It lasted for only a moment though, because Miller’s laughter followed him out into the dining room and then he was left wondering how long it would be before Clarke wandered into The Drop Ship again.

* * *

Instead of a bell ringing when Octavia opened the door to the art gallery, a soft chime echoed pleasantly. Everything about the place on the corner of Main Street was soft: the cream walls, the warm lighting, the classical music playing in the background. It wasn’t kitschy though. She was surprised by how professional it felt; she expected a gallery in a town like this to be full of sculptures made of seashells and hot glue, or watercolors of seascapes painted by bored old women. Instead, it felt like she should be hearing taxis whiz by outside and whispers in Brooklyn accents waft through the air-conditioned space. Geda Gallery actually had class and style and taste worthy of belonging to a city.

Octavia was even more surprised when a tall, built guy stood up from the desk to the right and smiled at her (his smile was also soft, so much so that it made her melt a little bit). He moved around towards her with such confidence that she realized he was the owner.

“Hi. I’m Lincoln. What can I help you with today?”

She stood a little taller as she said, “I’m here about the job opening.”

His smiled faded a bit as he glanced at her more closely, and there was sympathetic rejection already in his eyes. “I’m not sure you’d be a good fit.”

“You need someone to work the back room, right? Do inventory, receive shipments, package and deliver sold pieces, right?” Jasper and Monty had told her about seeing the sign in the window when they had swung by to pick her up for an ice cream run last night. “I can count, I’m responsible, and I have years of present-wrapping experience. What more do you need?”

His lips twisted as if he was trying not to smile. Octavia put on her best confident face, hoping it would rub off on him. “The job requires some manual labor. Lifting, transporting, and it’s not all canvases and such.”

“I can lift and transport. No problem.”

He looked her up and down again carefully. It was in a clinical way, but Octavia still was glad she had worn shorts that showed off her legs. Still, he said, “I’m sorry, but I need someone who can handle a lot of physical labor.”

“I can do it.” When he looked as if he was going to deny her again, she interrupted, “I’m serious. Test me. If I can’t handle what you throw at me, I’ll leave. But if I can, then I’m hired.”

His eyebrows rose at her boldness, but she just stared at him with pleasant determination. Finally he blew out a breath and gestured towards the back room. Octavia grinned at his broad back as she followed him into the storage area. Lincoln wasn’t the first to underestimate her strength; she had been showing up guys less than half his size for years now. At least he wasn’t being a dick about, just concerned. It was a little adorable, actually, the way he gestured at a box of clay with such worry once they were in the back. He was _worried_ that she would hurt herself.

It was hard for her to keep from laughing at the way his brow creased in trepidation as she sized up her challenge. The joke was on him, though; she and Bellamy and her mom--god, her throat immediately ached at the thought--moved so much that boxes were actually easy for her to manage. After dragging out her assessment of the task a little bit more than necessary, Octavia squatted down, got a firm grip, and then hefted box up. It was actually a bit heavier than she expected, but she gritted her teeth and managed a triumphant grin regardless. Lincoln’s eyes widened. He watched her hold it in place without a problem for a moment before gesturing hurriedly for her to put it down. Instead, Octavia walked past him, then turned back around, heading for a sturdy metal shelving unit. With a grunt, she shoved it onto one of the middle levels. Her muscles pulsed at the release of the weight, and she turned around a bit winded but also satisfied to find Lincoln staring at her with crossed arms.

“So how was that?” She asked cheerily.

“You could’ve hurt yourself. I thought you said you were responsible.” The teasing glint in his eye betrayed his disapproving tone

Sensing victory, she volleyed back, “I’m responsible enough to know what I can handle. And know when it’s worth taking a risk. Isn’t that what art is--taking a risk?”

“So is skydiving, but I wouldn’t try it.”

“I would.”

That startled a laugh out of Lincoln. It sounded like capitulation, and so she stuck her hand out. “I’m Octavia. When do I start?”

Lincoln considered her carefully before sighing and shaking her hand. His grip was firm, and somehow, despite the callouses on his hands, still _soft_.

“Monday,” he relented. “You start Monday morning. Eight am.”

“I’ll bring coffee!” Octavia called as she darted out of the store room.

She nearly skipped down Main Street, relieved to have a way to make money this summer. She had her scholarship for next year, and Bellamy was doing his best to keep them afloat, but she needed to do her part. She _wanted_ to do her part. As much as her brother tried to keep her unaware, Octavia knew they were struggling. He wouldn’t have accepted Kane’s offer otherwise. So she was going to work, and then Bellamy was going to find something else to do other than worry about the both of them.

She was also a little satisfied that she had proved herself to Lincoln and even more so that he was going to take her seriously. Pride fluttered in her gut, and Octavia tipped her head back, smiling at the bright sun beating down on her, the sidewalk, and the small town that seemed determined to prove her wrong about its worth.

* * *

Bellamy stopped short when he saw a flash of brassy blonde from across the restaurant deck. The heavy tray on his shoulder, though, quickly reminded him that he had food to deliver. Smoothly, he set up the tray on the stand, passed around the lunch dishes to the family of six, and then turned to go back inside. Right before he reached the sliding glass doors, he managed a quick glance around. The same flash caught his eye again, and when he looked again to his right, he saw Clarke.

She was seated at a metal table in the corner, under the shadow of the building. A half-eaten burger next to a pile of untouched fries were on a plate pushed away from her, no drink in sight. Bent over, Clarke was focused on something in her lap. She was _really_ focused, because she didn’t even flinch when the sound of breaking glass echoed in the humid afternoon air.

Bellamy spun around and then headed for the table of four who had knocked over their glass. Gathering the broken pieces quickly, he headed inside to replace the drink. Just as he reached the door again, he looked over at Clarke, and this time, she was looking right back at him.

He paused. She quirked a friendly half-grin at him, which startled him into responding with a brief nod before walking inside. Bellamy blinked furiously as he walked to the bar, eyes watering at the temperature change. After disposing of the glass, he put in the replacement order with Murphy, with one addition.

When he went back out onto the deck, he dropped off the soda to the table of four and then went over to Clarke with another one. He set it down, then lingered, because she didn’t notice him. It made him smile a bit, seeing her so lost in something. He leaned over to see what that something was.

His shadow fell on something that looked like a sketch, but that made her notice him. The notebook flew up to her chest, and she twisted quickly in her chair, searching for the source of the shadow. When she saw him, she raised her eyebrows.

“Need something?” she asked archly.

“Nope,” he replied, grinning more broadly at her slight wariness. “Just curious.”

“More like nosy,” Clarke grumbled. She adjusted herself to a more normal sitting position in her chair. The notebook, however, remained well-hidden. “This is Gina’s section.”

“She’s busy. And we help each other out when we’re busy.”

Finally Clarke noticed the water. Her hand reached out, and she brushed the condensation already gathering on the sides of the glass. She drew a little swirl, then a star, before looking back up at Bellamy. “This on the house?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “As long as you don’t tell Echo.”

She laughed, fingers trailing up to circle the rim of the glass. “Deal.”

Still smiling, Bellamy rapped his knuckles on the table before turning away. He had to finish his shift, and it was a busy one, but it was nice to glance over at Clarke once in awhile, either catching her immersed in her drawing or, sometimes, peeking over at him too. Miller ribbed him about his uptake in mood during his ten, and Bellamy retaliated by dipping some of the dried dishes back into the soap-and-water-filled sink.

It was a little disappointing when he came back from his break to find Clarke gone. Her table had been filled by three dull-eyed teenagers, and while he knew that she wasn’t there anymore, it took him a little bit to stop glancing in that direction.

By the time his long, hot, sticky shift ended, he could barely manage to nod to Echo as he headed out the door.

“Just a second,” she called out just as he was almost outside.

Bellamy stifled a groan as he spun on his heel. “What’s up?”

“You got a tip,” Echo drawled, eyes bright with amusement.

Puzzled, he walked back to the hostess stand. Customers usually left their tip at the table. “From who?”

“Who do you think?” she replied. “And don’t worry about splitting it. Clarke already gave Gina her own portion.”

Bellamy started as he reached for the envelope from Gina’s hand. She snatched it back, and he scowled at her. After wiggling it a bit, she handed it over. With a little bit of satisfaction, he waved it at her in farewell and left without opening it.

He didn’t look inside the envelope until he got home. Flopping onto his bed, he ran his fingertip over the sharp edges of the envelope. All he had done was get her a free soda, and it felt a little odd that she had tipped him. He knew that she was well off, and if she had found out anything of him, she knew he wasn’t. Bellamy hoped this wasn’t charity.

When he saw what was inside, however, he immediately relaxed. Grinning, he removed the coupon for one dollar off a small sundae at the ice cream shop on Main St. It was crumpled, as if she had pulled it from the bottom of her purse. That spontaneous gesture was safer than money, and he appreciated the intention.

The front door whooshed open and slammed shut. Heading out into the hall, Bellamy leaned over the upstairs railing to see Octavia kicking off her shoes.

“Ice cream after dinner tonight?” He called down.

She jerked her head up, then countered, “How about _for_ dinner?”

Bellamy grimaced, and his sister grinned mischievously. He stared her down for a moment before sighing and saying, “Just this once.”

His sister whooped, and then he couldn’t help smiling too.

* * *

The storeroom door opened, and Lincoln’s voice filled the small space. “Octavia, Mrs. Sydney called.”

She whipped her head up, glaring at him. “ _No_.”

He rolled his lips inwards, trying to hide a smile and not succeeding all too well. “She changed her mind again.”

“No. No, no. No!” She slammed the roll of twine onto the metal table. This was the _third_ time she had wrapped up this painting for the fickle Mrs. Sydney, who apparently could not decide if she wanted it or not. Octavia was not undoing all of her hard packaging work again. “It’s staying wrapped. Someone else will buy and then it will already be ready to go!”

With a soft chuckle, Lincoln stepped more fully inside. His white button-up glowed in the dim light of the back room, the open edges of it fluttering softly as he moved closer. “How will someone else be able to buy it if they can’t even see what they’re paying for?”

“Invest in an x-ray,” she said darkly.

“That would be a little expensive.”

His tone was so even she had to squint to notice the laughter lurking in his eyes. “With all the wrapping supplies I’m using up each time she changes her mind, it might be less costly just to get the damn x-ray.”

That had Lincoln smiling, which made Octavia smile too. She fought it, trying to hold onto her irritation at their difficult customer, but her boss had one of those smiles that just made everything lighter, softer, just _less._ As he shook his head at her in amusement, she could feel her fingers uncurling from the edges of the table.

“I’ll unwrap it tomorrow,” she muttered reluctantly. “And may I remind you again that you technically have a all-sales-are-final policy? It says so on the nifty little sign front and center on the main desk.”

“You may.”

She threw him a withered look. “Are you going to stick to it?”

“At my discretion. I am the owner after all.” He raised his eyebrows archly at her, and she rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance.

“Go away and don’t come back here until you start making sense,” she teased.

“Maybe I should make a don’t-call-the-owner-on-his-bullshit and put that on my desk as well.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to stick to it,” she retorted with a grin.

He pointed at her, and this time he was the one who couldn’t resist smiling too. “Employee’s don’t have discretionary power on rule following.”

“I’m not just any employee!” She called after him as he backed out of the room to return to the gallery. Octavia caught a few notes of his laugh before the door clicked shut, cheeks warming at the sound.

Then she glanced down and saw the just-wrapped painting again and frowned.

“Damn it,” she grumbled as she reached to tear off the carefully applied brown paper wrapping.

* * *

Slipping out onto the deck of The Drop Ship, Bellamy set a glass of water down on the metal table in the far corner, and Clarke smiled without looking up.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

Clarke stuck out her tongue--again without looking up--but then got distracted and didn’t bring it back in. As her pencil traced more fine lines over her sketch pad, she bit down on her tongue, then moved it to the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. Bellamy smiled as he watched, pushing the glass of water towards her.

“If you start spouting facts about dehydration like an after-school special again, I’m going to throw this pencil at you,” she warned without pausing.

“Then you won’t have a pencil. You’ll have to stop drawing and drink some water.”

“Bellamy.”

“Clarke. It’s hot.”

She finally sent him a withering stare. He stared back, unimpressed. After a beat, she sighed, dropped her knees and swung around to face the table. Her sketchbook stayed on her lap, out of sight. In the weeks since Bellamy had started spending his afternoon breaks with her, Clarke had yet to show him her sketches in full. He caught glimpses here and there of landscapes and customers’ faces and tables full of half-eaten dishes and empty glasses. Nothing complete, nothing in full, and the way she kept it close told him him asking to see more wouldn’t be a good idea.

It also probably wouldn’t be a good idea to grin at her while she sullenly sipped her water, but he did it anyways. Sometimes it was good to push the envelope with Clarke.

“Slacking on the job again?” she deadpanned.

“Gonna tell Echo on me?”

“I might.”

“You say this every day.”

“And?”

“And I still come in every day with a job.”

“Echo’s desperate.”

“Or she isn’t going to fire an employee who actually makes sure customers don’t faint from lack of hydration.”

Clarke groaned and dropped her head. “I drank the damn water. Will you shut up now?”

“So no tip then?”

She glared up at him through her eyelashes, and damned if his pulse didn’t jump at the sight. He glanced over at her fingers, which were twitching on the table. Standing, because he knew she was ready to get back to sketching, he grinned at her while pointing towards the still half-full glass again. Clarke just turned her back on him and hunched over her sketchpad again, getting lost in her art even before he passed through the sliding glass deck doors.

As he wiped down the tables after some late lunch goers, he wondered again why she was pre-med instead of majoring in art. The way she talked about it, with enthusiasm and happy eyes, made it hard for him to picture her doing anything else. But asking her about that seemed about as good idea as asking her to see her drawings, so he hadn’t--yet.

Bellamy spent the rest of his very slow shift trouncing Murphy in napkin basketball. Every time Murphy missed a shot into the beer glass, Miller would heckle from the back. Every time Bellamy made a shot, Gina would smile at him. Echo watched them all from the hostess stand, and while she looked annoyed, he knew she was keeping score on the table mat with a dry erase marker.

By the time he packed up to leave right before the dinner shift, he was in a pretty good mood and almost missed Clarke following him out the door.

“You’re still here?” He asked as she walked beside him.

She shrugged. “I felt like staying longer today.”

Bellamy didn’t know quite what to say to that. So he just kept walking, not sure why she continued walking beside him and away from her car either.

Then she stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Your sister works at Geda Gallery, right?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly.

“I have to go there to talk to the owner. I can give you a ride.”

“How did you--”

She smiled warmly at him. “You meet your sister there every day at the end of her shift so she can drive you home. I figured you might not want to walk there today.”

He just stared at her, and her smile grew a little less certain.

“I mean, it’s extra hot out, as you pointed out earlier. What type of friend would I be if I potentially let you faint from heat exhaustion on the road?”

The last bit had Bellamy rolling his eyes, and suddenly her shoulders seemed to relax again. In tandem they headed towards her car. When she unlocked it and made it beep three times in a row on purpose, he shook his head in exasperation. She just laughed and slid into the driver’s seat.

The drive was only a few minutes, shorter than his breaks or the times he stayed to eat lunch with her after his morning shifts. Still, it felt different--being in her car, listening to the radio station she had on, watching her drive with one hand on the wheel and the other dangling out the open window. It was them, outside the restaurant, and it felt different.

It felt good, too.

When they got to the gallery, Bellamy headed for the bench to wait for Octavia to finish. Clarke paused at the door when she realized he apparently wasn’t following her inside.

“Have you ever actually gone in?” she asked with a laugh.

“O’s usually done by the time I get here. No need.”

Clarke gave a dramatic, labored sigh and then tugged him up by his arm. His foot nearly caught on the bench leg as they stumbled inside. The blast of cold air shocked him, but not enough to distract him from the feel of Clarke’s hand still around his wrist. She didn’t drop it as she guided him to the back.

“I thought you wanted me to see the gallery,” he said, confused.

“Once I talk to Lincoln, I can show you around.”

Clarke just continued to plow forward. She barreled into the storeroom, and Bellamy finally felt his attention snap elsewhere. The sight of Octavia perched on a large guy’s shoulders, reaching up on a top shelf and laughing, was pretty distracting.

Hearing them, his sister whipped her head around. Grinning, she called out, “Bell!”

He didn’t miss the way the guy’s hands tightened on O’s knees to keep her steady as she twisted more fully around to wave. Frowning, he stayed in the doorway as Clarke stepped forward. Carefully he watched Octavia hop down and bounce over to him.

“You’re early!”

“Clarke gave me a ride.” He kept an eye on the guy--who he guessed was Lincoln, O’s boss--over the top of her head.

Lincoln smiled and stuck out his hand. Bellamy shook it but didn’t return the smile.

“So you’re Clarke.”

That had Bellamy jerking away from trying to assess Lincoln. He flicked O’s ear to distract her from smiling at Clarke. “Let’s go, O.”

She gave him a tired look. “We don’t close for another half hour.”

“It’s fine, Octavia. You’re all set,” Lincoln added in a low, steady voice. “I can close up.”

“C’mon,” Bellamy muttered. He nodded goodbye to Clarke and quickly ushered his sister out of the door.

“Were you being rude because you didn’t want me to talk to Clarke or because you don’t like my boss?” Octavia demanded as she grabbed her purse from behind the front desk.

“I wasn’t being rude.”

She scoffed as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. “You totally were.”

“I was not.”

“Were too,” she taunted as she backed out of the door.

Even as they continued to argue, she tossed him the keys, which he caught effortlessly. As they pulled out of the lot she switched from back-and-forth tactics to needling him.

“Do you not like Lincoln because he’s more jacked than you?”

Bellamy’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. She was doing it on purpose, trying to get under his skin. He wasn’t going to take the bait.

“Or is it because he’s hot?”

“He’s your boss,” Bellamy snapped. He could feel the satisfaction radiating off of his sister, that she had made him break, and so easily. He didn’t quite care at the moment, not when he kept flashing back to Lincoln holding onto his sister’s legs.

“Doesn’t negate the fact that he’s hot.”

“Octavia,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oooh, so tense, big brother,” she cooed. Then she leaned over and smacked a kiss on his cheek. He exhaled loudly through his nose, making a show of wiping her slobber off with his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I like Lincoln and I objectively find him attractive, but he’s older than me. And too serious. And my boss.”

The flare of relief her words gave him didn’t last long because she followed it up with, “I mean, if I wanted someone age appropriate, there’s Monty or Jasper.”

“O, they perpetually smell like weed. And I’m pretty sure I saw them dealing to Miller last week.”

“Probably.”

Bellamy glanced over to find his sister grinning sweetly at him. Sighing, he just shook his head, didn’t say more, and let her fiddle with the radio. He could concede defeat on this one because the stakes weren’t high. He knew she was just teasing him. It had been a while since he’d truly had to worry about Octavia--she’d come far since her early teen years--and when it came to something like this, she could be a little wild but generally trusted to know her own mind.

He just hoped that her growing good sense would hold true in such a new place.

* * *

Bellamy sighed as he walked out of The Drop Ship. It had been an easy shift, but with summer rapidly approaching its peak, the heat and influx of tourists was getting to him. He rubbed his eyes as he headed to his car, wondering if he should take a short nap before he drove home. So it wasn’t until he buckled up and put his hands on the wheel that he noticed the folded piece of paper tucked under his windshield wiper.

He cracked the door and reached out to retrieve it. The paper was slightly textured, heavy. It was drawing paper, he realized, as he noticed the faintest grey smudges of fingerprints here and there. When Bellamy unfolded it, a smile played on his lips.

The sketch was of The Drop Ship, but not from the angle that was displayed on the restaurant’s pitiful website or the town’s page. It was of the back deck, the ocean skyline in the background, blurry figures seated and standing amongst the tables. The lines and shading gave the image motion and pause all at once, and though the strokes were rough and unpolished--as if dashed off before the real thing could disappear--it still felt finished.

He hadn’t noticed Clarke at the restaurant today. She had come by though, maybe to pick up something else for Raven, maybe just to drop off this picture. Maybe he had just missed seeing her.

Still, she had been here and been by his car, just to tuck a hastily sketched drawing--the only one she had ever shown him--onto his car.

He started humming as he pulled out of the parking lot, his smile growing wider.

* * *

Octavia didn’t mean to sleep in on her day off. Besides giving a rhythm to her summer, keeping a schedule also kept her out of the heat on her morning runs. Lincoln had meant it, though, when he said the gallery job required a lot of physical labor. She was more tired than she expected to be, and so she slept through her alarm.

Running wasn’t to be avoided, however, despite the late hour. Glaring up at the mid-morning sun, Octavia stretched in the driveway. Already sweat gathered at her hairline, at her inner elbows, behind her knees. She just wiped it away as she jogged towards the wooden steps leading to the beach.

She started out slower than normal. Trying to pace herself in the heat, she figured she’d work up to her usual speed. After passing two self-imposed milestones, though, her legs still felt like they were moving through molasses. Irritated, she cranked up her music and willed herself to just run faster.

Maybe it was the heat; maybe it was the deviation from her regular schedule. Maybe there had been an air pocket in the sand or a loose stone. Whatever it was, Octavia was gaining speed, and then suddenly she wasn’t.

Sand skidded against and burned her knees as she crumpled to the ground and rolled towards the water. Crying out, Octavia clutched at her right ankle. It throbbed horrendously, and she squeezed her eyes shut to fight against the pain and tears. Eventually she blinked away the wetness in her eyes determinedly, but her ankle continued to twinge. Her shorts were damp from the waves washing up around her, and she could feel sand rubbing roughly under the straps of her sports bra. Slowly Octavia dragged herself back from the lapping water, swearing as each scootch jostled her sore ankle.

“Shit,” she said loudly. The ocean twinkled brightly at her, waves dancing under the cloudless sky without a care. She scowled at the picture-perfect sight. “ _Shit_.”

Octavia started taking in slow, deep breaths. Once she had counted to ten, she closed her eyes, leaned all of her weight on her left side, and pushed herself up. It worked to get her standing, but she overshot it. She had to briefly catch herself with her right foot, and that almost put her on the ground again. With a gritty whimper, however, she managed to keep herself upright.

“Whoo-kay,” she breathed, waiting for the pain to subside again. “Okay, okay, okay.”

She took two steps forward, doing a quick _right-left_. She swallowed tightly, pausing, again waiting for the pain to fade. Another _right-left_ , another pause. It took a few seconds longer to recover this time, though, and Octavia groaned.

There was no way she could make it back to the Kane’s house like this. She pulled out her phone and then groaned again when she saw the time. Bell was already into his shift at The Drop Ship, and the lunch rush was coming up. If she called him, he of course would come right away, and his manager would probably be fine with it. But she didn’t need her older brother to rescue her anymore. She was going away to college in a month, for fuck’s sake.

Octavia took a step forward--an arrogant step. She stumbled, swore repeatedly, and then glared down at her right foot. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.”

Thumbing through her phone again, she realized that Jasper and Monty’s parents had confiscated their licenses until next weekend. So they would be no help. And there was no way in _hell_ she was calling Marcus. On principle, she didn’t want his help. Besides if she called him and not her brother, she wasn’t sure Bell would ever forgive her for that. So she had no other choice than to start hobbling her way back to the house.

About twenty paces later, she nearly fell again and swore so loudly she heard it echo off the dunes. As soon as she could focus on something other than the pain in her ankle, she heard someone jog up behind her.

“You okay?”

“No,” she snapped without turning around.

“You need help.”

Octavia stared straight ahead as she continued to limp her way forward. “Nope.”

Suddenly someone stepped right in her path. A dark-haired boy blocked her from moving forward just by standing there. He didn’t reach for her or try to steady her, just looked at her skeptically with thick, raised eyebrows.

“So you don’t need help,” he remarked dryly.

“Nope,” she said, popping the _p_ pointedly.

“Fine.” He moved to her side.

Glaring at him from out of the corner of her eye, Octavia started moving again. He kept pace with her but didn’t look at her. She grit her teeth and kept shuffling her way forward.

After a few minutes of very, very slow progress, he started whistling. When she flicked an annoyed glance at him, she saw he had his hands in his pockets. In his _pockets._ It was just too much.

“This could be considered stalking,” she muttered.

“I’m just a concerned citizen.”

“I already have an overprotective older brother. I don’t need random strangers putting on the ‘nice guy’ act.”

“What makes you think I’m a nice guy?”

The grin he gave her--a little bit more dangerous than she was expecting--made her stop and actually take a real look at him. As soon as she turned his way, though, she saw there was genuine concern in his eyes.

“Octavia,” she said slowly, lifting her chin.

“Atom.” He grinned. “So, you sure you don’t want help?”

“No, I don’t want help.” She paused, grimaced, and then relented, “But yeah, alright, I need it.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t laugh or teasingly flaunt his victory. Instead he just nodded and asked, “What can I do?”

“You can put your arm around my middle _without_ coping a feel and help me get back home,” she said fiercely.

Again, he just nodded. Then he held out his arm, tentatively, as if waiting for her to come to him. That relieved her a little bit, and she settled into his embrace cautiously.

Atom turned out to be very necessary for getting home, and he actually kept his word. His hand stayed politely on her ribcage in a firm but not controlling grip. Octavia did all the steering; he was just there for support. By the time he helped her hop up the steps to the back door, she even found herself laughing at his story of how he broke his leg skateboarding when he was ten.

“Since you have to help me inside anyways, wanna stay for a bit?”

When he hesitated, she smiled. “Seriously, I know you’re not a creep now. You should stay--at least get something to drink.”

“Sure,” he finally agreed.

Satisfied, she used the edges of the granite kitchen counters to vault herself over to the fridge. She pulled out two Gatorades and slid one over to Atom. “Hope you don’t mind fruit punch.”

“Kinda was hoping for something a little stronger.”

She leaned back around the fridge door to see if he was serious. He raised his eyebrows as if disappointed in her, but when she started to speak, he broke out into a laugh.

“Kidding. Obviously,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes and pulled out a tupperware of cubed watermelon. The first piece that she took she popped in her mouth; the next one she feigned throwing at Atom.

“Nuh-uh,” he protested, swiping the container away from her. Then he started heading towards the living room.

“What about me?” She yelled after him. “You’ve stranded the invalid!”

Atom’s laugh echoed through the spacious, open, empty house, and Octavia just clicked her nails on the counter, smiling. She simply waited for him to come back, because even if she had only met him an hour ago, she didn’t think he would leave her behind.

* * *

Bellamy rubbed his face as another page for Dr. Avery sounded over the crackling hospital loudspeaker. Arkport General was a tiny place yet somehow no one could find Dr. Avery. He had heard the announcement so many times while waiting for Octavia to come out of the exam room that he considered going to find whoever the doctor was himself. Frowning at the faded flowery wallpaper of the waiting room, he hoped that whatever Dr. Avery was needed for wasn’t life or death. If it was, that patient was in serious trouble.

He let out a huff, annoyed at himself. The only reason he was pissed off at the announcement--and the nurse who checked them in, and the guy who had almost-but-not-really cut him off in the parking lot--was Octavia. Octavia, who had twisted her ankle but hadn’t called him. Octavia, who he had found, on coming home, laying on the couch laughing with some strange boy.

 _Atom helped me home_ , she had yelled with a mulish set to her mouth as he escorted her companion out the front door. _So don’t be an ass._

 _Well, Atom could’ve brought you to a doctor. Or to me. Come to think of it,_ you _should have come to me in the first place._

She’d not said a word to him after that. The entire drive to the free clinic located in Arkport General had been silent, except for the tapping of her fingerpads against her phone. Bellamy didn’t need to glance at the screen to know she was texting her new _friend_.

He quickly pushed off the wall as soon as the exam room door opened.

“Best case scenario,” Dr. Jackson said with a smile as Octavia hobbled out. “Barely a Grade I sprain. Stay off it and elevate for forty-eight hours, icing for twenty to thirty minutes a few times a day to reduce swelling. Lots of rest and care, and she should be back at it in a week or two.”  

Bellamy didn’t even have time to glance at his sister for emphasis on that last part before she sighed preemptively at him.

“I’ll stay off it, I promise,” she huffed. The doctor steadied her as she limped forward, but she was fast enough to slip out of his reach almost immediately.

“Seriously, she’s fine,” the doctor murmured once she had made it halfway down the hall. “She wants to get back to running as soon as possible I bet, and I made it clear that wouldn’t happen if she didn’t take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy said with a small, genuine smile. He shook the doctor’s hand, who nodded at him kindly in farewell.

Then he chased after his sister, because he didn’t put it past her to try to use the stairs instead of the ramp to get to the parking lot. Even with a bad ankle, she had a good head start and somehow wove her way through the busy clinic more easily than he was managing at the moment. So focused on catching up to her, he didn’t see Clarke until the last minute.

However, she didn’t even see him at all. She just blew right past him, face pinched tensely and arms folded across her chest. He nearly called out her name, but as soon as she appeared, she was gone. He spun around for a second, looking for her bright hair, but then O was calling for him, and he didn’t want to keep her waiting.

He would see Clarke later, at The Drop Ship. She always turned up there at some point.

Surprisingly, Octavia followed the doctor’s orders of ice and rest as soon as they got home. Bellamy didn’t know if he’d ever seen his sister sit still for that long--but it had only been one night. He wasn’t sure she would make it a full two days.

So he was almost thankful the next morning when just past nine the doorbell rang, and he found Atom on the steps.

“I wanted to check in to see how Octavia was doing,” he said in a friendly tone.

Squinting in the bright, early light, Bellamy took him in. He looked normal--jeans, T-shirt, a hesitant smile--but he wasn’t about to let him in just yet. Then he noticed the cases in his hand.

“Uh, yesterday she mentioned that she wanted to try something other than Mario Kart,” Atom explained as he raised the video games. “I figured she might need something to keep her distracted while her foot gets better.”

Bellamy almost frowned because this guy was actually being thoughtful, and it made it really hard for him to justify turning him away. He hadn’t even had coffee yet this morning, and here he was, trying to fend off Octavia’s _suitor_ \--not how he wanted to start the day.

He also didn’t want to start the day arguing with his couch-ridden sister, though. An annoying reminder that she was going off to college in the fall and thus practically an adult also ran through his mind. So, finally, Bellamy exhaled deeply and stepped to the side. “C’mon in. She’s in the living room.”

Atom even was polite enough to take his shoes off and wait for Bellamy to lead the way. The way O’s face lit up when she saw Atom made him feel a little better about welcoming him in. At least she’d have company when he left for work in a few hours.

As he made his way back to the kitchen, though, he realized that meant they would also be _alone_ while he was at work. He couldn’t in good conscience kick Atom out after inviting him in, however, and he definitely couldn’t take off work to chaperone. Besides, O would need someone around during the day to help her out, and somehow, he strangely trusted Atom more than Monty and Jasper to fill that role (though only barely). Groaning, he grabbed an extra large mug from the cupboard to pour himself a very, very large cup of coffee because it was only nine o’clock and he was already wishing the day was over.

Bellamy was so preoccupied with Octavia, and her ankle, and Atom being over almost every day, that at first he didn’t notice Clarke’s absence at The Drop Ship. It wasn’t until an usually slow lunch hour a few days after O had resumed her normal running routine that he realized he hadn’t seen Clarke in almost a week.

When he finally went to ask Miller about it, he only opened his mouth slightly before snapping it shut again, grabbing the plates for table four, and hurrying off. No way in hell was he going to give Miller more material to use against him. He also wasn’t about to ask Echo as she was his boss, Murphy wouldn’t know, and Gina was gone on vacation. So Bellamy just kept stealing glances outside the streaky glass doors for the next few afternoons and feeling disappointment wash over him whenever he didn’t suddenly see Clarke curled up in one of their wire chairs sketching like a madwoman.

After another few days without sight or word of her, he finally was distracted enough that Echo noticed.

“She’s gone, Blake,” she announced drolly at the end of his Saturday night shift.

“What?”

Echo straightened up from leaning on the hostess stand and sighed. “Clarke. She went back to the city last week. Heard it from Raven when she stopped by for a drink a few days ago.”

Bellamy almost asked why she hadn’t mentioned it sooner but--why should he care? He shouldn’t, and the fact that Echo was talking about this with him told him he did care too much, and it was showing.

“Okay.” He shrugged tense shoulders as he jingled his car keys in his hand.

“Miller thought it’d hurt your feelings if we told you.” Echo tapped a pen against the laminated table map. “But I told him you’re a big boy and could handle it.”

He scowled at her, but she just grinned sharply at him. His hand twitched, and he really wanted to flip her off. She could technically fire him, though, so he just reminded himself how much O’s books were going to cost and turned to leave.

“Just means you more time to hang out with me now!” She called after him sweetly.

His jaw clenched as her chuckle followed him into the parking lot. It continued ticking as he opened his car door, and he frowned as a puff of hot, stuffy air hit him unpleasantly. He braced his hands on the top of the car’s frame, waiting for the cool night air to make sitting inside more bearable. As he stared at his clenched knuckles, he saw that the scabs from where he had punched the wall of The Drop Ship had healed into small, pale scars.

Once he was in the driver’s seat, it took him a minute to start the engine. He wasn’t sure if he was more irritated that Echo was being kind of a bitch about Clarke or that Clarke had just up and left the Cape without so much as a goodbye. He thought they had been friends, but maybe he was just the guy who got her drinks and provided an easy distraction for boring summer days. Maybe he had put too many expectations on her. It was summer, after all, and he would be gone by season’s end anyways.

Bellamy stared blankly up at the stars for another moment before putting the car in reverse and then pulling onto the dark road to home. He rolled down the windows and let the breeze whip through the car. It cooled his flushed cheeks, and just underneath its whistling, he could hear ocean waves crashing in the distance. He sucked in a sharp breath, letting the salty air prickle its way down into his lungs. It woke him up, both for the ride home and for the reality of how the rest of his summer would be.

* * *

The soft chime of the gallery door opening rang muffled to the back room. Feeling a thrill of happy surprise, Octavia abandoned her half-sorted piles of new orders on the table and hurried for the front. When she rounded the corner, she saw Atom standing by the door, shoulders hunched, a coffee in his hand.

Once he noticed her, his blank expression lightened and he grinned. “You totally thought I was kidding about visiting you on your first day back.”

“Well, at least this proves you’re not an injury-induced hallucination that only appears at my house,” she teased.

He took a sip of his coffee, which she promptly stole and took her own swig of. He let her, instead replying wryly, “Your brother has seen me.”

Octavia just rolled her eyes before turning to walk him further in. Atom lingered by the door, however, and she wavered back to him. “Still, that was at the house.”

“Pinch me. I’m real, I promise.”

She paused before snorting at the ridiculous comment. Atom at least had the decency to look a little bit sheepish about the remark. Taking pity on him, she returned his much emptier coffee cup. “So do you want the tour?”

Pointedly, he swept his glance around the small front room once, twice, then raised an eyebrow at her. “I think I’ve already gotten it.”

“There’s more in the back,” she pressed but with less enthusiasm.

Atom shrugged. “I’ve been in before.”

“Oh, right.” Octavia nodded. “Seen one boring seascape, seen them all.”

She let out a cautious laugh--which he joined in on--that wasn’t quiet loud enough to keep her from hearing footsteps come up from behind.

“Hey, Octavia, did you finish the sorting yet?”

She turned to face Lincoln with a smile that was more sure than she felt. Monty and Jasper had visited her at work before, but Atom visiting, and on her first day back after her injury, might be pushing it. “Almost,” she fibbed.

“Let me know when you have. I need to get that info to the accountant by two. Also, when you’re ankle is better, I’ll need some help moving some of next month’s exhibition pieces out of storage.”

“Absolutely,” she said eagerly.

“Don’t push yourself, Octavia,” Atom interjected softly.

“I know,” she said a little shortly, but sent him a little smile when she saw only concern on his face. An idea coming to her, she turned to Lincoln. “What if Atom helps move them later this week? That way you don’t have to wait for me to get better.”

Lincoln looked from Atom, then back to her. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t have him working unless he’s an employee. Liability.”

“It’d just be really quick--”

“I’d probably break something, Octavia,” Atom interrupted.

Lincoln seemed to relax at the comment, as did Atom. She sighed, then conceded with a nod. “Alright. I suppose I should get back to work.”

With a dip of his head in farewell, Lincoln moved towards the gallery’s front desk. Octavia sighed again, looking to Atom. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll text you,” he replied.

She turned to go, but then his hand caught hers. Atom pulled her close, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he squeezed her hand and half-smiled at her. “See you later.”

Octavia laughed softly and tapped her fingers against his knuckles. “I’ll text you,” she echoed with giddy mockery.

Atom winked at her before pulling away and heading out. Her cheeks flushed with a little bit of heat when she saw Lincoln’s head duck down out of the corner of her eye. Turning on her heel, she sped back to the stockroom. It was more than a little embarrassing--and a bit of something else--to get caught flirting by Lincoln.

Quickly she buried herself in expense reports to forget it. Her cheeks didn’t cool for a while, though, nor did her thoughts stop drifting to when she might see Atom again.

* * *

As her fighter on the screen took out Atom’s, Octavia whooped and raised her hands. She almost pulled the console off the shelf because she had forgotten to let go of the controller. “I win!”

“I should never have let you keep these games,” Atom groaned. He smiled too, though, and Octavia immediately grinned back.

Even after her ankle had healed, Atom showed up almost every day to hang out with her. Most often they went down to the beach, but on rainy days like today, they stayed in and play video games. Technically she was supposed to work this afternoon, but she had called in to tell Lincoln she wasn’t feeling well and needed to stay home.

Her ankle _was_ feeling sore today, so it wasn’t really a lie.

Her growing twinge of guilt disappeared when Atom knocked his knee into hers. “Another round?”

“So eager to lose.” She tutted at him, gut fluttering when he reached over to teasingly jostle the controller out of her grip.

An hour later, she frowned at her phone. Monty had never texted her back about coming over. He and Jasper had visited her when they found out about her ankle, but she hadn’t seen them much since.

Granted they had asked her to go to a party with them last weekend, and the beach a few days ago, and over to their places before that, but all of those times she had already made plans with Atom. Still, she was surprised her offer of a full day of video games hadn’t prompted any response from them.

“Hey,” Atom said.

Octavia looked up from her phone to see him flicking through Netflix. “You just don’t want to play anymore because you have no chance of winning.”

“Whatever you say.”

She punched his arm, and he laughed as he pressed play for Ironman 2. He surprised her when he moved closer to her on the couch and put an arm around her. Smiling softly to herself, Octavia snuggled in closer, leaning her knees on this thighs.

“So are you Team Captain or Team Ironman?” He murmured into her hair.

“Um, Neither. They’re both idiots. I’m Team Black Widow. Duh.”

Atom laughed, and she shivered in delight at the way his lips moved against her temple. When she turned to look up at him, his mouth was so close that she just had to reach up and brush her lips against his. He gently kissed her back, hand cupping her jaw. As a fight scene echoed in the background, she smiled and then kissed him again, suddenly very glad that the two of them were very much alone.

* * *

Music blasting, Octavia shimmied around the kitchen as she waited for water to boil. With Bellamy getting back from his evening shift soon, she was making him some late night mac’n’cheese. She assumed he was eating crap at the restaurant during his break. He also had been extra grumpy lately, and the Blakes always resorted to comfort food in place of talking out their issues when things weren’t going well. No reason to change their habits even if this summer was turning out to be very different for them.

Things were going _really_ well for her though. Her cheeks heated just at the memory of how her and Atom had spent the rest of the afternoon. That was the other reason for the cooking; if Bellamy had food to focus on, he might not think too hard about why she couldn’t stop grinning.

Her plan failed. As soon as he walked in the door and saw her dancing around the kitchen at near midnight, her brother blurted, “So are you two dating now, or what?”

“You’re the worst,” she retorted, pointing accusingly at him with a wooden spoon. “And if I say it’s none of your business, are you going to get mad?”

He rolled his eyes and slid onto a kitchen stool at the island. “It is my business.”

“Is not.” She stuck her tongue out for good measure, even if it felt a bit silly.

“Oh my god, O. Could you be any more juvenile,” he half-sighed, half-laughed. Then his expression turned serious, and she clutched the spoon a little tighter. “You’ve known him only a couple of weeks. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I like him.”

“I ask again: are you _sure_ this is a good idea?”

She tried to keep a damper on her annoyance, but he was looking at her like she was fourteen again and telling him--not asking--that she was going her first date. “I can handle myself, Bellamy.”

“I’m not saying you can’t--”

“If you’re going to be like this, I’m not going to tell you anything once I go to college.”

His lips pursed at that, and she could see his jaw clench slightly. “I’m not trying to start a fight with you.”

“Since when?”

Bellamy glared at her.

“Besides,” she said, turning to stir the pasta in the pot, “you’ve known Clarke barely longer than I’ve known Atom, and you’ve been moping around here ever since she up and left. So, don’t talk to me about what is and isn’t a good idea. Falling for a girl who--”

“I didn’t fall for her,” he muttered. “And I’m an adult--”

“I’m not?” She snapped, spinning around.

Her brother closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “Can we not do this, O? Please? I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Octavia ground her teeth together as she watched him for another moment. Then she twisted back to the counter and sloppily dumped the pasta into a strainer over the sink. After returning it to the pan and splashing in some milk and butter and the packaged cheese, she stirred it up quickly and plopped some into two bowls. One of them she slid in front of her brother on her way out of the kitchen.

Bellamy caught her arm, though, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to start something. It’s just we’re not going to be here forever, and you’re starting college in the fall. I don’t want you feeling bad about leaving him behind.”

“And if I decide I want to take him with me?”

Bellamy’s mouth flattened at that, but then he shook his head at her in exasperation. “Then I guess I’ll learn to live with it.”

Octavia wrinkled her nose at him, feeling a smile coming on but not wanting to give one to him quite yet. “Deal.”

Barely five minutes after she had stomped upstairs, he walked into her room and half-sat on her on the bed. Grumbling, she scooted over to make room for him. They ate their mac’n’cheese in silence, but when she finished, Octavia leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder and closed her eyes, grudgingly relieved that he was looking out for her.

* * *

Vera Kane was finally coming to the house. Bellamy knew it would happen sooner or later, but he still wasn’t looking forward to it. She had her own home in Arkport and had been so busy that she hadn’t yet found time to visit them. He had been glad for that, but a few days ago, Marcus had cheerily informed them that her ‘social calendar’ had an opening and so he had invited her over for dinner with all of them.

He didn’t know what Vera was like, but it could be awkward. He and Octavia were living in Marcus’s house on his goodwill; that could make any mother, especially one with as much money as Vera, nervous. Already Bellamy could feel tension building in his neck in preparing to defend his sister and himself against insinuations of free-loading and taking advantage.

His worrying was for nothing. As soon as Vera waddled in through the front door and saw them standing there--stiffly, because neither he nor his sister dressed up much--she enveloped them both in tight hugs.

“I am so happy to meet you both,” she said with a smile. “Marcus has talked about you so much! I felt as if I knew you two already.”

Then she immediately launched into asking Octavia about her summer activities and her job at the gallery and what she was expecting from college in the fall. At first, his sister wasn’t very forthcoming. Bellamy could read the suspicion in her eyes, but after a couple of pointed looks from him, and jokes from Vera, she loosened up. Soon she was debating with Vera about different majors and their merits as they sat down to dinner. Bellamy just smiled at them, content to focus on his food instead of adding to the conversation.

“So, anyone special you’ll be leaving behind with a broken heart when you head back to the city?” Vera asked sweetly.

Octavia laughed, and Bellamy rolled his eyes. Marcus just looked fondly exasperated as he took a sip of water.

“Mother,” he admonished gently. Vera just shushed him and waved a hand dismissively in his direction without looking away from Octavia.

“Maybe.” His sister shrugged, but her smile gave her away.

“Oh, ho! There is someone. Well, I have no doubt he or she is _not_ worthy of you, dear. I couldn’t imagine there being many who would be.”

Bellamy nearly choked on a bite of mashed potato to keep from chuckling at the overly saccharine but still oddly genuine sentiment. Octavia looked like she wanted to kick him under the table, but then she smiled deviously.

“I’m not the only one who has someone special in mind,” she taunted.

Vera’s sparkling eyes snapped to Bellamy, and he shoved another large bite into his mouth. A mistake, because it just gave Vera a chance to start asking questions about if he was ‘sweet’ on someone.

“Too busy,” he replied shortly.

“There’s no one?” Vera asked with doubt.

Octavia snickered, and this time he actually did try to kick her under the table.

“It’s someone he knows from work,” his sister added gleefully.

Marcus straightened at that. “Really? Someone at The Drop Ship?”

“Oh, you know who it is then, Marcus!” Vera exclaimed. “Give us a guess, then.”

“Meddling is your forte, mother, not mine.”

Bellamy shot Marcus a grateful glance, and he nodded with amused apology.

Vera sighed. “Alright, well, if you’re shy about it--”

“He’s not shy. He’s just heartbroken.”

“O,” Bellamy warned.

“She’s gone now, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye,” his sister continued in an overly maudlin tone.

He glared at her, real irritation rising.

“Oh, oh, well then, I’ll stop nosing about,” Vera said kindly, much to his relief. “Here’s to finding someone who deserves you.”

She raised her glass in a toast, which they rest of them copied. As Bellamy took a long drink of water, he saw Marcus slide him a curious glance. He ignored it, wanting to put the entire conversation out of mind. He had been doing so well with that--putting all thoughts of Clarke out of his head--and he wanted to keep it that way.

The rest of the dinner, and the dessert they had in the living room afterwards, proceeded without much more excitement or annoyance. Vera was good at keeping the conversation going without much help (he learned far too much about the senior social scene in Arkport than anybody needed to).

As she gathered her purse to leave, she suddenly let out a happy exclamation. “Marcus, you should bring them to the fair on Saturday!”

“I’m sure they can find more fun things to do,” he said as he walked her to the door.

“The whole town is going! There will be so much food, and lawn games, and plenty of young people--not just us old folks.”

The corny way she winked got Octavia laughing. “I’m sold.”

Bellamy looked at her in surprise. When she smiled innocently at him, he pursed his lips in understanding. “I think the fact that she already had plans to go with Atom is what really sold her,” he explained.

Vera chuckled and patted O’s cheek. “Lovely. Now what will it take to drag your brother along?”

“I have to work on Saturday,” he said quickly.

Marcus hid a smile by rubbing his hand over his mouth.

“And what about Saturday night?” Vera asked slyly.

“He’s free,” Octavia chimed in.

“Wonderful! See you both then.”

Vera slipped out the door immediately, leaving no time for Bellamy to protest.

“I would try to get you out of it, but it’s best to let her have her way early. Saves you grief and guilt trips down the road,” Marcus muttered and clapped on hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “I know from experience, unfortunately.”

Bellamy shot him a wry smile, flicked O in the side of the head for her unhelpful behavior, and then went back into the kitchen to clean up. He wasn’t too worried about really having to attend the fair. Even if he had to beg, he would get Echo to put him onto the rotation for Saturday night as long as it meant he could get out of spending an evening around such well-meaning but overbearing people.

* * *

Under the dusky sky, Octavia wandered through the rows of fair booths. She had spent the better part of the afternoon waiting for Atom, but she still hadn’t seen him around. When she had gotten tired of checking her phone for his arrival text, she had tucked it out of sight in her pocket and gone to find Monty, Jasper, and Harper.

It had been fun to see them. She hadn’t realized how long it had been, just them hanging out. They had played some of the fair games, ridden on the questionable-looking ferris wheel, and gorged themselves on fried dough and cotton candy. It was the kind of day that made her feel warm, inside and out.

Harper needed to go home for dinner, though, and she was Monty and Jasper’s ride. So Octavia tried to find ways to amuse herself until Atom decided to show up. With the fair coated in the golden glow of the setting sun, she perused the booths selling homemade jams and knitted clothing and custom designed, Cape-themed kitchen cloths. The booth at the end, though, was the only that caught her eye.

Her breath caught at looking at the stunning photographs: black and white, color, close-ups of faces, landscapes. They were all so very different in content and form, except for the one thing that linked them together. Nothing they captured looked remotely familiar, all snapshots of people and places far away from the little town of Arkport. Octavia reached out and brushed her fingers against a framed picture of a rainforest, grimacing when they left smudges on the glass.

“Hey.”

She jumped and spun around, only to find Lincoln smiling at her. His hands were clasped behind his back, and peeking out from his short sleeves--which he never wore at work--she could see thick, bold lines of a tattoo.

“These are yours?” She asked.

His eyebrows rose at her surprised tone, and she bit her lip. She hadn’t meant it that way.

“I didn’t know you made art too,” she tried to explain.

“You never asked.”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile; he had said it kindly, but it was a reprimand all the same. “Well, I’m asking now.”

He chucked. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Then she smiled at him and didn’t have to say another word. He started with the picture of the rainforest, telling her how he had started traveling with his aunt when he was young. How she didn’t have children of her own but loved teaching and sharing and telling stories.

“My aunt Indra just loved _knowing_ things, and she wanted other people to know them too. She took all of her nieces and nephews on trips when we were young, but I was one of the only ones who wanted to keep going on them when I got older.”

They went down the rows of pictures, which were magical on their own but somehow came to life because of the stories behind them. Some of them were funny, a few were sad, but all of them filled Octavia with a severe yearning to see all of the sights for herself.

“Damn,” Lincoln said teasingly. “It looks like I’ve passed on the travel bug.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Octavia replied. “Just never had the chance.”

“You will, if you make chances for yourself.”

When she looked in his eyes, there was such understanding there, and Octavia didn’t quite know how to respond. So she just kept looking at Lincoln, who was looking at her as if seeing someone whom she had always wanted to be. It was overwhelming, and she swallowed thickly instead searching around for something to say, something that would tell him she _got_ it. Then a hand slid against her lower back.

“Gotcha,” Atom whispered in her ear.

“Hey!” Octavia exclaimed. She turned in his arms to see him grinning at her. When he leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek, she let out a small laugh. “What was that for?”

“Felt like it,” he teased.

She felt his fingers slip around to grip her waist and pull her a little bit closer. It was the first time he had been so public with his affections--then again, when she thought about it, this was really one of their first times together outside the house or the beach. The sensation of him claiming her felt--not odd, but rather just different.

Octavia turned back to say goodbye to Lincoln, but he was helping a customer. Her gaze narrowed at his stiff back, the way he had completely turned the other way from her. Atom tapped her hipbone, though, and tugged her back into the chaos of the fair.

They spent a little time walking around, and he bought her more fried dough. His fingers kept finding bare patches of her skin, though, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off his mouth. When he had a little bit of powdered sugar on his upper lip, she leaned up to kiss it away. Atom ducked out of her reach, though, making her chase him. When she rounded the back corner of one of the booths, he caught her by surprise and backed her against the rough wood before she could even let out a happy shriek.

“It’s gone,” she observed with feigned annoyance. “The sugar.”

“Yeah, but you have some here,” he said, brushing his lips against the side of her neck. “And here.” The line of her jaw. “And here.”

Octavia closed her eyes and sighed into his mouth which descended on hers greedily. Her skin grew sticky with heat and want as they pushed the boundaries of what was appropriate to display in public. Finally, when she knew she wanted so much more of him than she could have at the moment, she pushed him away. Blinking dazedly up at the starry night sky, she felt Atom chuckle against her collarbone.

“My parents are away for the night.”

Her hands froze on his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The invitation in that one word was clear, and anxious excitement thrummed through her. He had already wound her up. Just the thought of being able to feel that even more strongly, to feel not just some but all of him, to be close with him in that way had her giddy.

“Then why are we here?” she demanded. Then Octavia clasped his hand and determinedly tugged him back towards the fair and, more importantly, the exit. Atom followed with an eager grin, one that had her tripping over own feet in happiness.

* * *

When Atom slid back into the bed, Octavia groaned as the late night chilled air seeped under the sheets and hit her bare skin.

“You can’t be cold,” he said, brushing the hair out of her face.

She scrunched her nose at him before wiggling into his arms. “Not anymore.”

She felt Atom sigh deeply, but it wasn’t the teasing kind. She pressed a kiss to his chest. He hadn’t said much afterwards, but she hadn’t been able to form many coherent thoughts herself. The only things she could focus on was the hum of the air conditioning and the gentle way he held her. He had been gentle before too, but it had still been awkward. For her first time, though, Octavia hadn’t expected it to be any different. Rose petals and fireworks never sounded believable to her.

This--being held, feeling safe--was all she really could ask for. Atom was fun, and liked her ( _that_ she could be sure of, from earlier). It was enough, it really was.

Even so, Octavia felt the night hum around her. It wasn’t closing in, luring her into sleep. Instead little sounds--the wind, the waves, a car passing by, crickets chirping--drew her attention to the fact that there was more behind this bedroom and the boy lying restlessly next to her.

She was about to ask him why he kept fidgeting when the faint sound of a phone ringing cut through the room.

“House phone,” he groaned. As he scrambled out of bed to get it, Octavia sat up. She bunched the sheets at her chest. Goosebumps bloomed across her back, and she shivered enough to contemplate getting dressed. She frowned at her shorts and tank top, though, knowing they would send a sign to Atom: _thanks but goodnight._

“Yeah, yeah, she’s here.”

She squinted at the opening doorway. The bright light of the hallway cast Atom completely into shadow as he entered, phone pressed to his ear. Then surprisingly he held it out to her. Octavia was still blinking stars from her eyes when she held the phone up and heard Harper rambling hastily on the other end.

“You’re brother is _freaking_ out! You have to call him.”

“Why?”

“Apparently he went looking for you at the fair after his shift but he couldn’t find you and the fair closed an hour ago. Jas called me, said your brother called him to see if you were with him or Monty. He said he couldn’t find you anywhere in town, and you weren’t answering your phone. Your hot boss apparently kept him from calling the police but--

“Shit,” Octavia exclaimed, scrambling to get her clothes. “Shit, _shit_.”

“He hasn’t called me yet, so if you can get over here before he does--”

“You’re amazing,” Octavia blurted. “Thank you.”

“Well, Atom’s too cute to have his face damaged by your brother’s fist,” she grumbled. “And you’re also lucky that he doesn’t have his phone number.”

Octavia managed to choke out a laugh as she struggled to finish putting on her clothes. When she whipped around, Atom was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees and shoulders hunched.

“Atom, get dressed, I need a ride!” she pleaded.

He started, looking at her over his shoulder. With a hesitant smile, he nodded and started making moves. Letting out a sigh of relief, Octavia started to head downstairs. “Thanks, Harper. See you soon.”

“Make it sooner.”

* * *

Bellamy glanced at Octavia out of the corner of his eye yet again on their way home. Her phone glowed brightly in the darkness of the car, illuminating her sullen expression. Irritation ticked in his jaw, because she was mad at him. _She_ was mad at him for being ‘an overprotective ass’ when she was the one who hadn’t at least called or even just texted him to let him know where she was.

There was no point in rehashing that now, however, as neither of them would concede their side. They had already had it out--and reached no compromise--at her friend’s house. More like in her friend’s doorway, because Octavia had been waiting for him there with a furious expression when he pulled into the driveway. It wasn’t a terrible fight, at least not by their standards. He assumed his sister had reigned it in because of Lincoln’s presence, and he had bit back his own anger by asking her through gritted teeth to get in the car _because it was late and they didn’t need to be keeping Harper up any longer._

As they turned off the main road, he slid another look at Octavia only to find her curling in towards her door--away from him--without any sort of subtlety. Sighing, he slid his right hand to the top of the steering wheel. Shoulder cocked, he tried to block the sight of her out.

* * *

From her bedroom, Octavia heard the front door shut as Bellamy left for his dinner shift. Lying faceup on her bed, she scowled at the ceiling. Given that they had barely spoken to each other in two days, she should be glad her brother was gone. Instead, she hated when he wasn’t around more than when he was.

Annoyance made her antsy, and she vaulted up off the bed. She paced to the window, staring at the churning grey waves. The pane was smeared with mist, a promise of the coming storm. She had already gone on a run that morning before her shift at the gallery, but she had too much energy to sit still.

Lightning flashed in the distance over the open ocean, and Octavia sighed. She was dying to get out of the house, but she wasn’t in the mood to be electrocuted either. To make do, she headed downstairs to at least move somewhere. In the hall, she paused, realizing she had left her phone in her room. Pursing her lips, she tried to resist going back to get it. Atom hadn’t called since that night, or answered her texts; checking her phone every ten minutes wasn’t going to change that.

The house darkened as the storm crept over the house, and Octavia didn’t bother turning the lights on. She just sat on the kitchen counter in the dark, staring out the window and watching the rain beat down onto the sand. When the thunder rolled in so loudly that it would drown out any other sound--including a phone ringing--she forced herself to smile grimly even as her eyes began to sting hotly with tears.

 _Screw him,_ she thought and gripped the counter even more tightly so her hands wouldn’t reach for something (her phone, a boy) that wasn’t there.

* * *

The next morning, Octavia woke to puffy eyes and a voicemail from Atom.

_Hey, Octavia. I’m so sorry but my parents decided to cut our vacation short. I’m already on my way home. They wouldn’t even fucking let me stay to say goodbye. Crap, I’m really--this isn’t how I wanted to leave things. I wanted to say--to tell you--fuck, I can’t believe this. I didn’t want to leave, you gotta know that at least. I’ll call you soon to explain._

She let herself stare blankly at the sunlit white walls of her bedroom for a few moments before launching out of bed. She jerked on her running clothes without any care and jammed her feet into her sneakers. They were tied too tightly, already hurting her feet as she pounded down the stairs. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Octavia ran fast and hard that morning. The burning of her lungs and the sting of sweat dripping in her eyes was welcome. Pushing so far past her limits wasn’t smart but it was what she needed. His words kept ringing in her head, no matter how loud she cranked up her music.

They hadn’t faded a bit by the time she stormed back into the house. So furious, she didn’t even notice Bellamy at the island at first. When she had finished kicking off her sand-caked sneakers, though, she found him staring at her in concern, spoon poised over a bowl of cereal.

He looked her up and down, then simply said, in a soft voice, “Morning.”

Octavia inhaled raggedly, and then she burst into tears. As sobs clogged her throat and wetness blurred her vision, she heard the screech of barstool legs against tile followed by her brother’s quick padding footsteps. Warm arms enveloped her without reservation, so steady that she let herself fall into Bellamy’s solid frame. He just stood there, letting her cry, not offering judgement or consolation or promises that it will pass.

He just let her _feel_ , and Octavia didn’t know if she could ever love her brother more than she did in that very moment.

* * *

It took Bellamy a while to find the toolbox in the garage, but that wasn’t a surprise. Marcus wasn’t the handy type. He wanted to call a plumber to fix the leak under the kitchen sink but Bellamy insisted that he could do it. And he doubted Marcus agreed because he wanted to, but rather because Bellamy didn’t bother to hide his simmering irritation. He kept it together around Octavia, but he was just so tired. It was one thing to see himself get pushed aside; it was another for it to happen to his baby sister. He couldn’t fix this for her, but he didn’t have to feel useless. Marcus apparently sensed that and simply wished him luck on the repair with a tentative smile and clap to the shoulder.

So Bellamy got to work. Which was why he was lying down under the sink swearing at the rusting pipes when the front door opened and shut.

“Can you get me a towel, O?” He shouted.

She didn’t respond, but he heard a closet door opening. He went back to doing a last little bit of tightening before crawling out from underneath the cabinets.

“Thanks, Oct--” Bellamy stopped abruptly when he realized it wasn’t Octavia walking into the kitchen, but Clarke. She looked just the same as she always did: hair up in a bun, jean shorts, t-shirt with a collar cut so low that it made the room seem ten degrees hotter.

“Hey.” She tossed him the towel then leaned against the counter.

He caught it, but just barely. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile faded at his shocked, sharp tone. “Marcus didn’t tell you?”

“You know Marcus?” He felt a little bit like he was getting run over. _She knew Marcus_.

“He’s a family friend.”

Something flickered in her expression, but Bellamy was still too caught up on why she was actually _here_ to figure it out. “You never mentioned that.”

“I didn’t know you were staying with him. Otherwise I would have.”

He stared up at her from the floor for another beat, his hackles rising at her defensive tone. “So you’re back.”

“I didn’t plan on leaving but I--I just had to.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I needed a place to stay.”

Bellamy bit back his already rising retort, because there was a catch in her voice. It made her sound vulnerable, and as he took a second look at her--rounded shoulders, arms folded over a curled-in chest--he realized he didn’t have to be quite such a dick at the moment. Something wasn’t okay, and this was Marcus’s house, after all. And, despite her leaving without a word before, he and Clarke were friends.

“So I’m guessing you don’t need a tour of the place?” He said with a careful lightness as he finally got up from the floor.

Her answering smile was so full of relief that he knew he had picked the right reaction. “I just need to know what bedrooms are free.”

“Octavia and I are in the ones to the right at the top of the stairs. The rest are fair game.”

Again something flickered in her expression, a different something this time though. Before he could figure out what it was, however, Clarke nodded, turned to pick up her bag, and disappeared down the hall. By the time Bellamy heard her heading upstairs, he realized that he had no idea how long she was staying with them.

Swearing under his breath, he climbed back under the sink and just lay there, staring up at the repaired pipes. It was pretty much all he could handle doing at the moment because thinking about how he was going to survive living with Clarke was much too much.

* * *

As Bellamy applied paste to his toothbrush, he heard the soft pad of feet come down the hall, pause, and then turn back around. The steps were too light and calm to be Octavia, who thundered everywhere. Besides, he had heard her leave for her shift at the gallery twenty minutes ago. It was odd, to know that Clarke was the one on the other side of the door, walking away at seeing that it was occupied.

Everything had been odd since Clarke moved in. The way her eyes widened at seeing him shirtless with bedhead in the kitchen one morning, then asking curiously as she poured her coffee, _you wear glasses?_ He discovered that she preferred IPAs and red wine to white, and that she was worse than his sister about leaving her things around (though she was at least meticulous about not tracking sand into the house). It was strange, finding out that she hated to watch cooking shows and liked police procedurals. And it was a little more than trying to run into her in the hall as she exited the bathroom after a shower, towel tucked in at her breasts and wet hair raining droplets on her heat-flushed skin as steam billowed out from behind her.

For all that the two of them had been friends earlier in the summer, they didn’t talk much now. Just the occasional smile and _how was your day_ when they crossed paths. Clarke and Octavia interacted even less. Though that was mostly on his sister, who seemed to glare at everybody and everything, skulking around the house with a permanent pissed-off expression on her face. Bellamy knew she had a right to be pissed off. Without Octavia being her cheerfully intrusive self, though, things were somehow more awkward between him and Clarke than if his sister was interfering.

It didn’t help that after brushing his teeth, he spent an extra few minutes squinting at the mirror and running his hands through his hair. The urge to make it look not quite so disastrous in case he ran into Clarke in the hall made him frown at himself in irritation. Still, he wasn’t annoyed enough to just walk out without a second (and third) glance.

When he left, he didn’t see her, but Bellamy did hear her door down the hall open as soon as his bedroom door shut.

He was in a bad mood for the rest of the day and night, and Murphy took great pleasure in telling him at the end of his shift, “You pissed Echo off with your attitude so much that you get to close up tonight.”

Discreetly, he flipped the bartender off. Murphy’s responding laugh didn’t do much to take the edge off, but Bellamy just grit his teeth and swallowed down the sentence. He really shouldn’t have snapped at Echo about the seating distribution, if he was being honest. This was his own mess, and he knew it.

When he locked the restaurant doors behind him an hour later and turned to go to his car, he found Miller perched on the hood. He lifted a hand, wiggling a beer, and then tossed it at Bellamy.

“Cheers.”

Bellamy managed a small smile as he hitched up onto the hood too. “You couldn’t spring for anything better than PBR?”

“I save the good stuff for the dates I actually care about, asshole.”

The hiss of his can opening smothered his low chuckle. “Good to know where I stand.”

“And where do you stand with your new roommate?”

Bellamy reached over and gave a hard tap with his fist to the bottom of his friend’s can just as he was about to take a sip. Beer splashed out and down Miller’s front.

“Fucker. See if I buy you cheap beer ever again,” he muttered, wiping foam off of his shirt.

Grinning, Bellamy replied, “I wouldn’t waste the beer like that if it was actually good quality, FYI.”

Miller rolled his eyes. “So things with Clarke going that well, huh.” This time he was able to move the can away before Bellamy knocked more of the contents out onto him. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up about it.”

Bellamy took a few sips, staring at the shadowed buoys covering the sides of The Drop Ship. The sky was uninterrupted dark blue, stars hidden by lingering clouds from the storms earlier in the week. “She’s there. I’m there. We’ll both be gone in a few weeks, back to reality. That’s it.”

He pretended that he didn’t hear Miller’s dismissive snort. Instead, he just took another large swig of beer and hoped to god that Clarke would already be asleep when he got home.

* * *

He wasn’t so lucky. It was past two in the morning when he dragged himself home, the last round of beers with Miller finally kicking in. Bellamy was exhausted and buzzed enough to consider crashing on the living room couch. In a few hours, though, the room would be filled with bright sunlight streaming through the ceiling-high windows. So up to his bedroom it was.

Right on the stairs, he ran into Clarke. She blinked at him in the dark--or at least Bellamy thought she blinked. The shadows and the beers made it hard to tell.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

He glanced at her up and down, trying to focus. Her hair was a mess, falling out of a sad excuse for a bun. He nearly did a double-take at the hem of her oversized T-shirt, belatedly (and a little disappointedly) realizing that she did actually have shorts on underneath. Immediately the back of his neck heated; he absently reached up to rub away the redness that was no doubt blooming there.

“Hey.”

“You just getting home?” she asked, interrupted midway by a yawn.

“Yeah.”

She blinked at him for another beat then stepped down closer. “You need some water? I was going to get some.”

“No. I’m good.”

She didn’t move and neither did he. He just stood there in a daze until she quirked a half-smile at him, moved to the side, and continued on her way to the kitchen. Just when she reached the bottom, he turned and called out her name.

She yawned again when she turned to look up at him.

“Octavia and I are both taking Friday off to spend some time down at the beach,” he said. “You wanna join?”

As soon as he finished, he realized that Octavia might not be on board. It was sudden, and thoughtless, and a little bit selfish, but he couldn’t take the offer back.

Clarke’s face softened though, and her quiet, pleased _sure_ eased his worry a little bit. She was living with them after all; the three of them might as well make the best of the situation for the several weeks of summer they all had left.

It was what he told himself as he fell asleep that night, figuring he would make it up to his sister later.

* * *

Octavia pressed her raised knees harder against the dashboard of Clarke’s car, squinting and slouching in the bright morning sun. She had forgotten her sunglasses but hadn’t wanted to ask Clarke to go back for them, not when she had already asked her the favor of driving her to the gallery today. Octavia didn’t feel particularly comfortable around Clarke, but she couldn’t take many more of her brother’s careful, pitying looks, especially in a confined space, either.

“There’s a spare set in the console,” Clarke offered as she turned onto Main St. “Take them for the day.”

Octavia shrugged. “‘M fine.”

Clarke didn’t push it, though she did move her elbow off the console. A few minutes later, when a shaft of bright light flicked into the car, Octavia jerked her head to the side and shielded her eyes with a raised hand.

Chuckling, Clarke opened the center holder and dug around, one hand still on the wheel. She held out a pair of sporty sunglasses, saying, “You think you were the one who was out late drinking last night and not your brother.”

“How do you know Bell was out late last night?”

Clarke immediately shifted in her seat, staring straight ahead. Reminding herself that Clarke was doing her a favor, Octavia didn’t say anything more. Instead, she just glanced at her a few times before slipping the glasses on. They weren’t a style she thought Clarke would wear, but they did the job wonderfully. She sighed in relief from the sudden dimming of the world around her.

“What brand are these?” she asked as a peace offering just before they pulled up to the gallery. “They’re nice.”

The car jerked the slightest bit as Clarke stepped on the brake too hard. “Uh, actually, no idea. They’re not mine.” She paused and put the car into park. “A friend left them behind.”

“Oh.” She unbuckled herself and started opening the door. “Well, I’ll return them soon.”

Clarke smiled smally, then joked, “If you don’t, I know where you live. And work.”

Octavia returned the smile before hopping out of the car. She took a deep breath before pushing inside the gallery. Lincoln was there, and he smiled at her, and the building anxiety in her chest waned. It had been the same every day since the night at Harper’s when he had seen the messy bits of her. She would walk in nervous, and Lincoln would just be Lincoln and set her right at ease. The first day after had been the hardest; she had expected him to let her go. She had already missed more than a few shifts because of Atom and that night had been because of him too. And though Lincoln didn’t know that was the reason, her irresponsibility weighed on her heavily regardless.

He had blown her expectations away with his usual smile and nod towards her task list for the day. Since then, every day was the same--a smile, a nod, friendly conversation. The gallery became her refuge. She wasn’t sure if Lincoln was ignoring what happened or didn’t care, but she couldn’t ignore it and she did care. So Octavia made sure never to miss a shift and often showed up early, two coffees in hand. She was being better not for him, but for herself. It made the days go by easier, even when something reminded her of Atom.

Which, as she looked down at her list, was going to be more difficult today.

“The Eden group is coming in today?” she asked with a frown.

“It’s the last Sunday of the month,” Lincoln explained.

Octavia glanced up at him quizzically.

“It’s their cultural enrichment meeting,” he explained with a grin.

Octavia sighed and tried to muster up a matching amused smile. Vera was the head of the very active Arkport social group, the same one that had put on the carnival. If they were coming to the gallery, Vera would be around and no doubt, if she saw her, ask her about Atom. She looked up at Lincoln, to ask if she could stay in the back the whole day, if he could handle giving them the tour of the new installments.

Then the phone rang, and he answered. Octavia watched him converse with a client in his friendly tone, while at the same time sorting through paperwork. He slid her the day’s orders to package, pen in hand that he used to write down a consultation appointment. By the time he hung up, Octavia had tamped down her urge to hide.

“Octavia?”

He considered her with concern, and she realized she was standing there, staring at him, lips parted. After a little head shake, she replied, “Nothing.”

Lincoln looked as if he was going to ask again, but she turned on her heel and headed for the storeroom. Lincoln was busy enough as it was; she could handle Vera Kane for one afternoon.

The tour went well, and Vera had done nothing more than pat her cheek on her way in. As she cleaned up while the ladies filtered out, she let out a sigh of near-relief. That was when she heard the soft call of her name.

At first she tensed, but then she turned with a forced smile on her face. Vera was standing there with pitying eyes, and Octavia kicked herself for not knowing better.

“Oh sweetie, how are you doing?” Vera asked quietly as she stepped forward. “I’ve heard a little bit from Marcus. Don’t blame him; he didn’t want to tell me, but I wheedled it out of him. I just had to know what I could do to help.”

“I’m fine,” Octavia offered with gritty cheeriness. “I swear.”

“In my day, a boy was run out of town if he dared leave a lovely young lady like you without a word,” she tutted, brows furrowing crossly.

“Mrs. Kane--”

“Oh, I told you to call me Vera!”

“Vera,” Octavia said kindly but firmly. “Really, I’m fine.” She said the words, but even so, she felt her eyes start to water. It was angry tears gathering--at Vera for poking sore wounds, at Atom for making her feel weak again, at herself for _being_ weak.

“Oh honey,” Vera murmured. She reached a hand out, but then thought the better of it. “I would give you a hug, but now I’m thinking you’re not the kind of girl who wants one of those.”

Octavia nodded in agreement, furiously swiping away tears.

“I would offer you a little swig of something from the flask in my purse, but the sheriff has it out for me. He would just love to get me on something like serving a minor,” she whispered conspiratorially.

It startled a laugh out of Octavia. After a few sniffles, she asked out of genuine curiosity, “And why exactly does the sheriff have it out for you?”

“That old geezer has had it out for me ever since the ladies and I staged a protest about the old mansion up on Benson Street being torn down. They wanted to put a high rise up on those cliffs, and it would’ve ruined the marsh nearby. We couldn’t stand for it! When he denied our protest permit, we chained ourselves to the building. He tried to arrest us but we got off with community service--which is what we do every day anyways, hah! Let’s just say the town council didn’t appreciate the image of the sheriff’s department escorting a bunch of old ladies into cop cars in handcuffs and might have come down on him about it. He’s had it out for me ever since.”

Octavia stared at Vera, with her red, wrinkled cheeks and fired-up eyes, the lady who had offered her a drink from a flask, the one she carried in her purse. Vera Kane, who apparently was soft grandma on the outside, but hardcore badass on the inside. Suddenly, Octavia couldn’t stop herself. The laughter bubbled up then burst out in one long peal.

“There she is,” Vera said with a soft, slightly sly smile. “That’s the girl I was looking for.” Then she let out a little chuckle of her own.

Octavia’s eyes were still damp when she leaned in and hugged Vera. “You get this one for free.”

Vera gave her an extra squeeze, then patted her on the cheek once more. “Chin up. You’ve got more gumption than most people in this town will know what to do with. Walk tall and proud. The best of us always do.”

Octavia laughed to herself as she watched the woman scurry off after her friends who were waiting at the door. Wiping the last of her tears away, she took a moment to breathe in and out. Then she rounded the corner from the private room and saw Lincoln. He was standing with a customer, talking softly. His hand was raised and gesturing at a landscape. The movements were soft but so sure, eased and practiced. The gallery was golden with sunlight, the paintings’ bright colors turning a metallic tint. It was art itself, and Lincoln was the focal point, and so Octavia took a moment to lean against the wall and take it in while she had the chance.

* * *

If Bellamy was being honest with himself, he really was looking forward to a day at the beach. Not just because Clarke was coming, but because it would be good for Octavia. She seemed to be doing okay--even if she hadn’t said another word about Atom--but he was still worried. As the three of them walked down the worn stairs to the beach below, though, he tried to let those concerns go. Today wasn’t the time.

When they had walked halfway towards the water line, Octavia flung her towel down onto the sand and yelled at him, “Race you!”

Immediately she took off for the water. Bellamy was right behind her, tossing his shirt off several feet away from their drop-off place. As he ran towards the water, he heard Clarke’s startled laugh behind him. Then it dropped away, replaced by the rush and hiss of the tide and the tremendous splashing of him and his sister as they tore through the waves.

She ducked under just before he did, and she was already whooping in celebration when he surfaced. By the time he shook the water out of his eyes, Octavia was already launching herself towards him. Her weight knocked him over. He had his sister half in his arms when he found his footing again, tossing her up and over into the water almost immediately. She sputtered up and smacked water at him. He turned but not quick enough, so he felt salt inundate his mouth and nose. Coughing, he held up his hands in surrender as Octavia continued her onslaught.

“Mercy!” He hacked out, throat burning. “I yield!”

His sister cackled in celebration, bobbing up and down with a giant grin and her arms waving in the air. She add a little floating twirl of victory that was interrupted by a rogue wave bowling her over. Bellamy laughed, grinning as she righted herself with soaked hair plastered every which way.

“The universe doesn’t like it when you brag, O,” he teased.

“And nobody likes a sore loser, big brother,” she taunted right back.

As always, his sister recovered quickly, brushing her hair back but leaving it down. It would be disaster to comb out at the end of the day--he knew too well from their childhood trips to the beach--but at least he no longer had to battle the tangles any more. She swam out deeper, past her head, dipping under each wave as it rolled in. Bellamy stayed where he was, just watching her, making sure she didn’t go out _too_ far.

It took him a little bit to realize Clarke hadn’t joined them yet. Twisting around, he saw her standing at knee-depth. She waved, and he squinted in the bright sunlight at her.

“Not a water person?” He called out, surprised.

“It’s too cold!” She yelled back.

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is!”

“It’s not if you go all in!”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re just making it harder on yourself. You gotta go straight in, no hesitating!”

Clarke scowled at him, shaking her head. She kept her arms crossed over her bare middle, her navy blue bathing suit just about the shade of the water. He was almost glad that he had been otherwise occupied when she had undressed and walked down, and he was really glad he was up to his waist in frigid water.

_They were friends, they were friends, they were friends._

“Get in here, Clarke!” He demanded with a grin.

“In a minute!”

He moved further in towards the shore. “I don’t believe you.”

“You stay where you are.” She pointed at him and tipped her chin down with a warning stare. “I’ll come in when I’m ready.”

“Not as brave as I thought you were,” he retorted. “You’re missing all the fun.”

Even from a distance, he could tell she was rolling her eyes. He was about to wade out and use a bit more physical encouragement to get her into the water, but then he heard a little swish behind him. He lunged to the side just in time to miss Octavia leaping onto his back, but she caught him on her second attack.

By the time they finished their game--he won that round--Clarke had made it to thigh depth. Octavia didn’t swim out so deep again, and Bellamy finally started to feel the chill of the water. When he motioned to her that he was going in, she rolled her eyes. He rolled his own back dramatically at her disapproval. She stuck her tongue out, raised her hands up high, then fell backward into the water with an arched back.

Drops of water from her splash hit Bellamy’s shoulders as he turned away. The tide sucked at his hips, then his legs as he walked towards Clarke. She inched away from him, her mouth wavering between a grimace and a grin as he stalked towards her.

“Stay away. I’m warning you.”

He smiled back as he stepped to her side. With his arms crossed over his chest, he just stood there with her, staring at the blue-on-blue horizon. Bellamy could feel her glancing over suspiciously, and it was taking all his willpower to not look back. He’d get her in the water eventually. Not right now, though.

“So does she stay in the water the entire time?” Clarke finally said.

“Pretty much. The only thing she does at the beach on dry land is run.”

“I wish I had her energy.”

Bellamy snorted. “If you can believe it, there was even more of it when she was younger. Pain in the ass for me.” He paused, and then added. “And my mom.”

“You seem to keep up pretty well.”

That time he did look over at her, just in time to see her jerk her gaze away from his arms and back to the horizon. Bellamy tried to tamp down the little thrill of satisfaction that went through him because it could just be the sun and the heat making her cheeks pink.

“Either that or I lost her.”

Clarke’s voice was soft as she said, “And that ever happen?”

Bellamy pursed his lips, wondering if she had heard it in his tone or she was just that good at reading him. “Once or twice.”

“She came back, though.”

This time he was the one to turn to look at her. Her expression was blank, and she didn’t flinch as he considered her curiously. She just kept staring straight at the horizon. After a few moments, she raised her hand to her brow, blocking out the sun. Clearing his throat, Bellamy said, “I’m gonna head in. Coming?”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment before smiling and replying, “Yeah.”

They just hit the dry part of the sand when Bellamy noticed there was a girl lounging near their things.

“You’re a chicken shit, Griffin!” she called out. “Won’t even go in the water on one of the hottest days of the year!”

“I don’t see you diving in!” She responded immediately. She was grinning brightly when she turned to Bellamy. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited a friend to join us. Raven, actually.”

“Fine with me.” As much as he had heard about her at The Drop Ship, he was a little curious as to who Raven was exactly.

When they reached their place, Raven laid back on her elbows and considered him. “So,” she drawled. “You’re the charity case Echo has taken on.”

Coming from anyone else, being called a charity case would’ve earned them a cold look and hot words. Taking in Raven’s sharp grin, though, Bellamy just shrugged. “If you have to tell yourself that to sleep at night.”

Nobody said a word, and he could feel Clarke tense beside him. Then Raven cocked her head, her grin widening, and she threw back her head and laughed. “I like him,” she said to Clarke.

“Then don’t scare him off,” her friend muttered as she reached for her towel.

“Who, little old me?” Raven cooed.

Bellamy snorted at the same time as Clarke, which got another laugh from Raven. As Clarke settled into the sand and the girls chatted, he rummaged around and passed out drinks and snacks. As usual, Octavia was out of the water in no time because there was food around. Somehow she managed to sneak two bags of chips away from them as she demanded Raven’s life story.

“It’s decided,” Raven announced when Octavia offered to run over the guy responsible for Raven’s leg injury. “Little Blake is my favorite.”

“I’m always the favorite.” Octavia grinned smugly as she crunched down extra loudly on a chip.

Bellamy pelted a pretzel at her, but she was too quick. With her hand up to deflect, it bounced off and nailed Clarke in the cheek. She let out a feigned noise of indignance and threw popcorn at him in retaliation.

“That was not my fault,” he argued with a laugh as she continued throwing pieces.

“Don’t blame your little sister,” Clarke accused teasingly.

He flicked another pretzel at her, and she chucked another handful of her ammo at him.

Octavia stood suddenly, throwing her glasses down. “Water, Raven? Before I hurl?”

“Gladly,” Raven replied.

Clarke’s cheeks were pink again as the two strolled off. His own neck felt hot, and he knew it definitely wasn’t from the sun.

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re still friends,” Clarke sighed.

“Well, at least you could get rid of her. I can’t get rid of Octavia,” Bellamy said with feigned annoyance.

“Get rid of her? Yeah, you don’t know Raven,” Clarke laughed. “That girl is more loyal than anyone I know. Once she’s in your life, she never leaves. And honestly? I’m grateful for it every day.” She paused, taking a sip of her water. “Miller’s like that too.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “What?”

“Miller, grumpy cook with the beanie who pretends he doesn’t enjoy my lovely company?”

“Oh, oh I thought you meant a different Miller.”

Clarke scoffed at his sarcasm. “Alright, alright. But for the record--Miller’s good people.”

Bellamy shrugged. “I know.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Sometimes people don’t see it and I--”

“Get overprotective.”

She shot him a look of pretend outrage. “I look out for my friends.”

“You and Miller aren’t friends. Now, me and Miller, we’re friends. But you two--” He shook his head, still smiling all the while.

Instead of engaging, Clarke tipped her nose in the air, put on her sunglasses, and laid back on the towel. Bellamy had to turn away from the image, because with her hair splayed out and her just holding back a smile, it was less painful looking at the midday sun.

Raven came back soon, and she dripped all over him while she dried off. He challenged her to a game of cards, which she kicked his ass in. Clarke pretended to sleepily sunbathe, but she would laugh occasionally at their conversation. Just like when they were kids, Octavia only came on dry land for the occasional mouthful of water or snacks, spending the rest of the time swimming. He only reminded her twice to reapply sunblock, and twice she wrinkled her nose in disapproval at him. She also stood around for ten minutes before she put it on, acting like it was her own idea. Still, when they walked up the dune stairs at the end of the day, she didn’t have a red nose or shoulders, so Bellamy considered it a win.

Raven headed straight for her car, ponytail swinging as she chucked her bag into the trunk. “Clarke and I are going for ice cream--you two wanna come?”

“Yes!” Octavia immediately responded. “I’ll go get my wallet.”

Clarke followed her inside, and Bellamy watched her go. When he turned back around, Raven was looking at him with raised brows. He stared her down, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I said I like you Blake,” she said slowly and softly, something he was sure didn’t happen often. “Don’t do anything to change my opinion of you.”

“And what would that be?” he challenged, his heart racing more than he would like.

Raven just stared at him for another beat before turning to open her car door. She paused with it half open, hands braced on the door and frame. She turned towards him, lips parting, turned back, then turned towards him again. Her expression eased just the slightest as she offered, “Just take it easy with her, okay? She’s--just take it easy.”

She tipped her head towards him for emphasis before sliding into the car. The next moment, the house door opened, and Clarke and Octavia returned. They climbed in with Raven and were pulling out of the driveway before Bellamy had even taken a step towards the house. He watched them turn the corner, unease growing in his gut. As he walked inside, feeling almost light-headed at the change in temperature, he tried to figure out why Raven’s words were sticking in his mind.

It wasn’t until he was standing on the back porch, watching sunset colors bleed across the sky, that he realized the words were cautionary--not towards him, but rather _for_ him. He gripped the white plastic railing and wondered if he really did want to know what she was talking about.

* * *

That night, Bellamy was sitting on the back porch with his eyes closed, enjoying the warm darkness, when a soft clink sounded next to him. Startled out of his daze, he looked up to see Clarke smiling down at him. She held a beer bottle in one hand, her other hand resting on another one now sitting on the small table at his side.

“Returning the favor,” she said as she sat in the chair on the other side of the table. “Though I’m still about a dozen drinks behind in repayment.”

Bellamy grinned as he reached for the beer. “Gotta start somewhere.”

Clarke laughed before taking a long sip. “Sorry to interrupt your nap.”

“I wasn’t napping.”

She glanced skeptically at him. “Just resting your eyes,” she said dryly.

“If you make an old man joke, I’m leaving,” he grumbled.

“Wouldn’t dare,” she teased.

An easy silence fell while they drank and looked at the dark sky. After a while, though, Clarke shifted to prop her feet up on the railing, but then moments later dropped them again. She sat with one leg under her, then huffed and stretched them out. Bellamy watched as she tapped her bare feet against the wooden porch in an offbeat rhythm, resisting a smile at her typical inability to sit still. She was like this even when she was drawing, always changing her position.

“Why don’t you have a Facebook?” she blurted out suddenly.

He lifted his gaze to meet her curious, intense face. Shrugging, he said, “Don’t really need one.”

Clarke considered him carefully. “Alright. But it’s useful, sometimes.”

“If there’s anybody I need to get in touch with, I have their number.” He took out his phone and waved it at her. “Trust me, there’s advantages to being out of the loop.”

He wasn’t about to tell her that he had considered getting one when she had left the first time, if only to find out if she was okay.

“Point,” she conceded by tipping her bottle in his direction. “I’ve unfollowed so many of my high school classmates because TMI. But consider this: it’ll be easier to keep in touch with your sister once she’s in college.”

“I’m not going to spy on her.”

“Not what I meant. Just--you’ll get to see what’s going on in her life. Pictures, updates, that type of thing. Yeah, yeah, she’d tell you anything important, I know. But still--you should consider it.”

Bellamy stopped frowning because maybe that would be worth having an account for.

As if sensing his capitulation, Clarke continued, “At the very least you can leave embarrassingly dad-like comments on her wall, and she can give you shit for it. And so can I,” she teased with a small laugh.

He snorted, and then suddenly he felt his phone plucked from his fingers. “Hey!” he exclaimed as Clarke cradled his phone against her chest, grinning mischievously. “Give it back.”

“I can see it, you were gonna cave,” she said. “Just try it, for the summer. You can always delete it’s too newfangled for you.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes but didn’t reach over to grab the phone back. He could have, but instead he let Clarke set up an account for him. It was fun, he had to admit, bantering with her about profile pictures and interests, likes and who to friend.

“Oh, Miller accepted your request! You have two friends now!”

“Who’s the other?” he asked, peering over the phone in her hands.

She paused, as if surprised, and then said with slight amusement, “Me.”

Glancing up, Bellamy caught her eye. Something flashed in her gaze, and then she looked away and bit her lip. “Another beer?”

He nodded and pulled back. She was up in an instant, inside before he could blink. He shook his head to clear it, trying to convince himself that he was just making up the spark of interest in her eyes.

When Clarke came back out, she was clutching two more bottles, already dripping in perspiration, and there were towels and a blanket hanging on her arm. Instead of sitting down, she nodded her heads towards the shore below.

“Beer tastes better on the beach,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Not going to argue with that,” he said with a grin as he stood.

When they got down to the sand, instead of spreading out the blanket, she merely threw it down and dropped the beers on top of it. Bellamy saw her eyes glint challengingly in the darkness as she started walking backwards towards the water.

“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Going swimming.” She tugged off her shirt, revealing her bathing suit underneath.

“ _Now_ you want to go swimming?” He drawled, thankful his voice didn’t catch as he watched Clarke shimmy out of her jean shorts.

“Night swimming is way more fun,” she called out, before taking off for the water.

In an instant, Bellamy was shrugging off his own shirt and chasing after her. She shrieked as he splashed in behind her, but then she was diving under the waves. He went in just as she came up. When he surfaced, he wiped his eyes free of the salt and saw that she was grinning at him brightly. Her hair was dripping, tangled, but she didn’t seem to care. Bellamy pushed his own hair back as he returned the smile.

They swam out a bit further, up to their chests. The water was slightly warmer than it had been earlier, probably only because the air temperature had dropped a bit and the difference between the two was less. They just drifted in the waves, talking. Eventually they ended up floating on their backs, and Bellamy started pointing out the constellations he had memorized years ago.

“You start by finding Polaris and the Little Dipper,” he explained. “And from there you can find the big dipper, and Cassiopeia--”

“Wait, where?”

“There, to your left.”

“I’m facing the other way, hold on.”

Bellamy laughed as he heard Clarke struggle to turn herself in the water. Her foot brushed his calf in the process, and then her arm bumped into his as a wave pushed her closer. Goosebumps bloomed on his skin, but he wasn’t cold.

“Sorry, now, where should I be looking?” she asked.

Bellamy raised a hand to gesture in the right direction. He could almost feel how hard Clarke was concentrating as she tried to find the patterns. He explained again, and she let out a proud shout when she found them.

“Was Cassiopeia the one who nobody believed?” she asked.

“No, that was Cassandra,” he explained. “Cassiopeia was a queen, and because she bragged that she and her daughter were more beautiful than some demi-gods, Poseidon sent a sea monster after their kingdom. To save the kingdom, the king and Cassiopeia chained their daughter to a rock to sacrifice her to the monster. But she was saved by Perseus.”

“Remind me to add ancient history nerd to your Facebook profile.”

Bellamy splashed her a bit, but she just laughed. The bright sound floated up into the night, and he smiled as he looked up at the stars.

“Ever see a shooting star?” Clarke asked absently.

“No.” He paused. “Wouldn’t know what to wish for anyways.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie, because right now, with her next to him, he knew exactly what he would wish for.

Clarke didn’t say anything else, and after being buoyed up by a few more waves, they both headed into shore. The barely cool night air made his skin prickle as they walked back to their things. As they dried off in silence, Bellamy started to wonder what exactly they were doing. It was relief when Clarke laid out the blanket and sat down in the middle, not having changed her mind about having another drink with him. When he sat down, it was close to her, and he grew warm when she didn’t move away.

They quietly opened their bottles and took a few sips before she spoke again. “You’re staying in my bedroom, you know.”

Bellamy nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

She turned from looking at the moonlit ocean to grin at him. “When my family would come stay with the Kane’s. That’s the room I would stay in. Has the best view of the ocean.”

“Don’t tell Octavia.”

Her laugh was soft, blending in with the sound of the waves. She tipped her head back, eyes closed. Her silence gave him too much time to think--of how he could feel her body heat sitting so close, of how he probably wouldn’t be able to fall asleep tonight now that he knew that had been _her_ bed. Of what he would dream of happening in that bed if she decided she wanted to sleep there again, but with him in it too.

Bellamy took another long swig of his beer and shifted his left knee up, as a precaution. No use in making things awkward just because he couldn’t suppress his dirtier thoughts. After a few sips and more silence, he frowned and set down the beer, deciding that was probably doing the opposite of helping.

“I never want to leave here,” Clarke murmured suddenly.

When he looked over, she was in the same position: leaning back on her hands, face towards the stars, eyes shut. Except now there was something sad about her expression, almost mournful.

“Summer always ends eventually.”

“Shhhh,” she hushed him teasingly. “It only comes true if you say it out loud.”

“What? Not looking forward to returning to the Ivy League life?”

“No.”

Her response was so curt that it brought him up short. “Why?”

That had her looking over at him, a little suspicious but mostly surprised. “You really want to know?”

“I can’t promise I won’t be an ass about it. Sympathizing with the wealthy can be a little difficult for me, friends or no.”

Clarke just rolled her eyes at him. “Already knew that. You sure?”

“Already I’m expecting a let down with a buildup this dramatic.”

“Shut up.” She paused, as if waiting for him to volley back, but he just gestured with his hand for her to get on with it. Clarke took in a deep breath, then said, “I was always going into medicine. My mother is a surgeon at Mass Gen, and my dad is a biomedical engineer. There was no way the science gene was going to miss me. That had always been the plan.”

“But.”

“ _But_ ,” she echoed with a grim smile, “it’s not what I’m best at. Art is.”

“Ah, the practical versus passion dilemma.”

“Poor little rich girl, I know,” she said in a self-deprecating tone. “And it gets better: my parents even told me they’d support me if I want to switch majors. They weren’t happy about it, but they said they understood. Which, you know, I thought I had used up my approval quota with them when I came out as bi and they didn’t even bat an eye.” She paused, glanced at him, relief flickering over her face after he gave her a thumbs up. “So.”

“So,” he drawled teasingly, “What’s the problem?”

Clarke drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. After glancing at him out of the corner of her eye again, she rested her chin on her knees with a sigh. “It’s selfish.”

He straightened at that. “What is?”

“Going into art.”

When he didn’t probe why, just watched her, she turned her head towards him. There was a glint of pleading in her eye, a little request for reassurance that made Bellamy want to pull in her close and tell her he would keep all of her secrets safe.

“If I was a doctor, I could help people. I could help a lot. I would make a great doctor, I know I would, and to just give up that opportunity because, what, I _enjoy_ art more? Because my life would be more fun if I was an artist? That is beyond selfish.”

“Clarke,” he said, but couldn’t get farther than that. She was just-- “Ridiculous.”

“What?”

He grimaced when he saw her curl into herself defensively. “Sorry. I just meant--you’re worried that doing art, something you have a real talent for and could make as big a difference with, is selfish?”

“I know art is the thing that ‘makes life worth living’ and all,” she said as if she was quoting someone, “but we have to be alive in the first place to enjoy it. Seems like that should be the first priority then.”

“So you’re going to save lives, something you’re good at but may not enjoy, so those people you saved can live happy lives?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t _enjoy_ saving lives--”

“Clarke.” He laughed with gentle incredulity. “Take it from someone who has to choose practical over passion. When my mom got sick, I was close to finishing a degree at a community college. I could have stayed, but it wouldn’t have been the best for all of us, just me. I don’t regret the choice, but I still hate that I had to make it. So choose your passion, if you have the means to.”

Even though it was dark, Bellamy could tell she was flushing. Hastily, she blurted, “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

He laid a hand on her arm to cut her off. “It’s how it is. And yeah, it bothers me sometimes--a lot of the time--but then I think about Octavia going to BU this fall, and I’m happy. I may not enjoy what I do for a living right now, but I am beyond okay with the future it gives my sister. And me. Because I’m going to finish my college degree, someday. It’s not happening when I expected it would, but I’m going to make it happen.” He paused, then snorted. “Octavia would kill me if I didn’t anyways. Says I need to go back to worrying about school instead of her.”

After a beat, Clarke let out a puff of a disbelieving laugh. She shook her head back and forth and said, “Where did you come from, Bellamy Blake?”

And then so quickly, she laid a soft kiss to his knuckles. Her lips hovered over his hand, as if she had surprised herself. His hand came up reflexively, seeking more contact. As she lifted her head, he cupped her jaw and run a thumb over the bottom edge of her cheekbone. Like the tide, he swept her in closer, and she rolled up towards him like the waves crashing on the sand just feet from them.

He tasted salt on her lips when he kissed her, firm but slow, pulling her into his lap. As she curved over him, guiding his head back, strands of her hair tugged loose by the warm breeze tickled his face. He thought to sweep them away behind her ear, but then her tongue ran over the seam of his mouth greedily. His hands flew to her waist instead, fingers digging into her curves as he rocked her closer. A little happy sound left her, and he felt sparks fly down his spine and gather there at the base with more and more intensity as he continued to kiss her and Clarke continued to slide and roll against him with a hungry sort of urgency.

She was soft, and warm, and making him hot and bothered, so when she pulled away, an ache started in his gut. Bellamy could feel her breathing raggedly as she bowed backwards to put distance between them. She stayed in his lap and put her forehead to his, but it still felt like they were a second away from flying apart. He dug his fingers into the sand to keep from anchoring them on her hips to make her stay.

“So, bad idea?” He breathed out, a little bit joking but more serious than anything.

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Then Clarke let out a small laugh, this one a bit resigned. His gut clenched in preparation for the let down. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You mean--”

She smirked. “Oh no. I know exactly what I’m doing in that department.”

A beat, and then, because the heat in her eyes matched the burst flaring in him, he wavered forward before stealing another kiss. Bellamy meant to keep it brief, but soon enough his hand was tangled in her half-loose hair and she was kissing him, wet and dirty. When Clarke began rocking her hips into him in a way that had him seeing bursts of white behind his eyelids, though, he broke away suddenly. He was the one trying to catch his breath as he panted out teasingly, “Okay, so, I don’t know what we’re doing here either.”

Clarke closed her eyes and groaned, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Immediately he put his arms around her, but lightly because he could feel the slight tension underneath her flushed skin. He knew what he _wanted_ to be doing; he was pretty sure she knew too, or rather, could feel it from sitting in his lap. He just wanted to give her time to decide if that was what she wanted too.

Bellamy felt her small frame shift against his chest as she breathed in time with the crashing waves. He stared at the water, focus jumping hastily between the silver caps that dotted the dark surface like stars, just waiting. Then she took a deep breath in and said with a smile in her voice, “Your bedroom or mine?”

Tightening his arms around her reassuringly, he kissed her temple before whispering his answer in her ear.

* * *

On the beach, it had been just a fleeting thought: flashes of blonde hair bright against grey sheets and midnight blue shadows. Now, though, after sneaking up the stairs and into his room with Clarke, after feeling her body pinned between him and the just-closed door, after knowing what her hands felt like as they skimmed over his bare skin, it wasn’t just a thought. It was real, and it was happening.

So when Bellamy hovered over a laid-bare Clarke in his bed, he had to take a moment. He drank in the sight of her, eyes flitting over every curve and dip and glow of pale skin. She raised her eyebrows when he glanced back up, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twisting into a guilty smirk.

“I’d say it’s a guy thing to do that, but I know better because girls do it too, so I’m just going to take it as a compliment,” she teased.

“You should.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips parted, but he was claiming another kiss before she could speak. Clarke still told him exactly how she felt, though. With quick hands and strong legs, she pushed him back and over. As she sat up straddling him, she grinned and brushed her hair back into a more ordered mess.

“Better?” he asked dryly.

She shrugged, fighting a smile. “For me, yes.”

“I’m still enjoying the view,” he commented lightly.

She laughed--softly, almost too much so. Octavia was at Harper’s for the night and Kane was far away in the city. No one was going to find them. Still, Bellamy didn’t miss the way she had double-checked flipping the lock on his bedroom door.

Her old door, he thought, his gut clenching in a strange but pleasant way. He couldn’t help the way his hands slid up her thighs and wrapped around her hips. Clarke closed her eyes, expression softening. Her own hands found his abdomen and then slid upwards slowly as her fingers spread and curled and spread again. She was exploring him, and Bellamy felt hot tension streak down his spine. It gathered at the base when her thumbs swept out along his collarbones, then arced around his hips and clashed together in the middle tightly when she slid her hands off his shoulders to palm the mattress, stretching out and then against him. He had time to register the feel of all of her against him for one ragged breath before her lips brushed against his.

Clarke kept the kiss slow, but Bellamy made it sultry, teetering on the edge of dirty as he teased and nipped and coaxed his way into her mouth. When she conceded, he felt a flush go through him, not from the victory, but from the way she sighed into the deepening of the kiss, from the way she ran her fingers through his hair. He could feel how heated she was too, just from her skin. His hands ran everywhere: back, sides, hips, ass, thighs, hips again, brushing up against her ribcage just to make her shiver with want.

Every inch of her, and of them, was crystal clear until right then, when her hips rocked into his. She was damp, with sweat, with arousal, and from there, the moments blurred together. The faster he moved, the faster she did too, mouths greedy for the taste of ocean salt on skin, hands greedy for the feel of the other’s softness and hardness under their palms and fingerpads.

When he reached for a condom in his nightstand and the wrapper crinkled, however, he surfaced from the needy haze. Clarke seemed to blink to awareness too, her gaze flicking to the unopened packet in his hand.

Even in the dark, he could see that her flush deepened. She bit her lip, looked him straight in the eye, and nodded.

“Yes?” He still asked.

Her answer was a breath against his lips, but so sure that it had him craving her even more. “Yes.”

She was kissing him fiercely again by the time he slid into her heat. Even as he thrust into her, she moved her hips to her own rhythm, stubborn and convincing. They met somewhere in the middle and in that give and take, Clarke peaked. When she arched in pleasure, a breathy cry leaving her lips, everything in Bellamy tightened, a rush and a high that sped him toward the edge as well.

One more press of her against him, and he fell over. As they came down together, he felt the chilled air clashed with his overheated skin, felt her body stick to his. It took him a minute to untangle himself from her, and strands of her hair stuck to his neck as he pulled away. When he came back from cleaning himself up, Clarke was in the same position on her back, but now with her hands above her head and eyes closed. When he slid back into bed, she stayed in place.

“Clarke?”

She hummed, light, short.

“Tired?”

She hummed again, confirming.

He considered her for a minute longer. Bellamy wanted her to say something, a real something, but it was late. He was tired too, and so he let it go. Still, he couldn’t help himself from slipping a tentative arm around her waist. She rolled over into his chest, and let out a sigh, but somehow, that didn’t erase the small knot of concern he felt. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even looked at him afterwards. Clarke was in his arms, falling, asleep though, and that had to be good enough, he told himself.

Soon enough, her breathing evened out, and he felt sleep tugging at him too. It was stronger than the worry, and so he let it pull him under a few breaths later.

* * *

He woke that morning to find Clarke sitting on the edge of the bed, back-to. She was thumbing through her phone with her shoulders hunched. As he turned over, she startled and twisted around to look at him.

“Hey,” he rasped quietly, looking her up and down. She was tense, but then she looked at him and everything eased.

Her lips even curved into a small smile. “Hey,” she murmured.

The knot in his stomach loosened, and then came completely undone when she leaned over and kissed him. Sliding a hand around to the back of her head, he tilted it to deepen the kiss, propping himself up at the same time. After a few more moments, he pulled away with a soft groan.

“Nature calls,” he explained.

She nodded, with another smile. Bellamy couldn’t help but smile back.

When he came out of the bathroom, though, she was leaving his room, phone pressed to her hear. She smiled at him again, but twas something uncertain in it, tight. He looked at her in concern, but she simply waved her hand at him: _nothing to worry about._

Trying to trust her reassurance, he just watched as she passed him and went into her room. As the door clicked shut behind her, Bellamy tried to convince himself she was just talking to her mother or her father, that they wanted her to come home, and she didn’t know what to do.

The door was still closed when he left for his shift an hour later, though, and something heavy settled in his gut.

* * *

So focused on rifling around the gallery’s front desk to find the receipts Lincoln had asked for, Octavia didn’t hear the chime from the door opening. She didn’t even notice anyone had come into the gallery until a take-out coffee cup was set down right in her line of vision.

“So sorry--I’m Octavia. What can I help you with today?” The words rolled of her tongue automatically, and it wasn’t until she looked up and blinked a few times that she realized the guests were Jasper, Monty, and Harper.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked when they just stood there. “Didn’t think you had a lot of art needs.”

Jasper braced his hands on the front edge of the desk, expression overly serious. “You _can_ help us, actually.”

“With what?” she asked curiously. She watched Monty take a long sip of his own coffee and Harper bite her lip, fighting amused exasperation.

“You see,” he drawled. “We’re looking for our friend. Brown hair, feisty, not too tall but she acts like she could take anybody in a fight. See, she used to hang out all the time earlier this summer but now we actually have to come to her _work_ to see her. Sound like anybody you know?”

“I’m as tall as you, asshat,” she quipped, tapping her fingers on the lid of the coffee they had brought her.

Monty moved closer, shoulder to shoulder with Jasper now. “What he’s trying to say is: do you wanna get lunch out with us today?”

Octavia glanced from face to face, seeing hope but also doubt there in equal measure. She shrugged and picked at the loose bit of plastic on the cover’s mouthpiece as guilt at her disappearing act--first because of Atom, then because she was just plain hiding out as she licked her wounds--picked at her. “We’ve got a big order going out tomorrow. Lincoln probably needs me to work my lunch shift.”

Monty and Jasper exchanged a look. Harper rested her head on Jasper’s shoulder, pouting a bit. “Please, O. It’s just lunch.”

“Guys,” she sighed. “Really I just--I’m needed here. And right now I need to get these receipts to Lincoln.”

She picked up the stack of papers and left her friends and the coffee they had brought her at the desk. As she walked into the rear of the gallery, her throat tightened. Octavia squeezed her eyes shut to ease the sting in her eyes. Blindly, she entered the stockroom, leaning against the wall right next to the door. It was just lunch, and they were just her friends, but she wasn’t sure if she trusted herself to keep it to just an hour, just lunch. Self-control wasn’t her strong suit. One lunch, one hour would turn into more, and then she’d be skipping shifts again in no time. It was what happened with Atom, and she hated that. She wasn’t going to screw up her place at this job, not again. Frustrated, she tipped her head back and exhaled loudly, the motion pulling and tugging on her hair as it caught on the rough wall.

“Everything okay?”

She jumped, the papers clutched to her chest crumpling under her tensing arms and hands. Octavia blinked in the dim light and saw Lincoln leaning against one of the shelving units. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at her with concern.

“Fine,” she said after clearing her throat. “Here are the receipts you asked for.”

“Thanks.” He pushed off the shelf and took them from her, moving smoothly, slowly. As he thumbed through them, he kept glancing up at her. She only stayed until he nodded that all the information he needed was in the stack.

Octavia was halfway out of the stockroom when Lincoln called out, “For the record, I think you should go to lunch with your friends.”

She whipped around, gaze narrowed. His smile turned a bit sheepish. “It’s up to you, but I’ve got things handled here for the moment.”

“Lincoln, really, it’s fine. I can see them other times.”

“Do you, see them?”

Octavia opened her mouth to reply, but the lie wouldn’t come. She couldn’t lie to him. Instead, she took a deep breath and asked, “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Then he gently teased, “As long as you come back in time to help me deal with Mrs. Sydney when she comes in later.”

That made her laugh a little, and she nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

Lincoln waved her off with feigned annoyance, and she scooted out of the back room. She jogged to the desk to get her purse and the coffee before rushing out of the gallery. The sudden brightness of being outside made it hard for her to find her friends at first, but she caught sight of them right before they turned the street corner.

“Hey, wait up!” She yelled as she ran after them.

When they turned and saw her, all three of them smiled. Harper cheered, Monty clapped, and Jasper slung his arm over her shoulder as soon as she reached them.

“You made the right choice, my friend,” he proclaimed. “Do we have a delicious meal in the works for you.”

Octavia glanced warily at Monty. “That’s terrifying. From your stories, the last time Jasper cooked, you three hallucinated for hours.”

Jasper let out an indignant noise, and Monty patted his shoulder in mocking consolation.

“Don’t worry, all Jasper did was pack the cooler. We made the sandwiches,” Harper reassured her with a grin.

“Awesome,” Octavia agreed with a smile just a big and warm.

They found a shady spot in the nearby park to settle at, and in no time, everything fell back into a familiar rhythm for Octavia. As she laughed at one of Monty’s stories and bit into her sandwich, she reminded herself to thank Lincoln for encouraging her to go today. It was a small thing he did, but as she sat in the warmth of the noontime sun and of these three who were still apparently her friends, it felt a lot bigger.

* * *

After Bellamy slammed two stacks of dirty plates down on the kitchen window, Miller stared pointedly at him. Bellamy just shrugged off his friend’s warning and returned to the dining room. He was still in a shitty mood--had been for almost a week, ever since Clarke suddenly was never at home anymore. At least he was taking it out on the restaurant plates, which had seen far better days anyways, than the customers. Though tonight, there had been a few close calls. Luckily Gina had taken some tables off his hands which was best for all parties involved. He’d gladly let her have the extra tips if it meant not punching someone out, not to mention keeping his job for the rest of the summer.

When he came back with another round of cleared plates, he tried to be more careful. From the way Miller cringed, though, he apparently had not succeeded. As Miller grabbed them and dumped them in the sink, he said, “I will suggest, yet again, talking to her. At least text her, man.”

“I shouldn’t have to text her if I live with her,” Bellamy grumbled.

Miller snorted and muttered something under his breath. Bellamy didn’t stick around to hear him repeat it louder, instead heading back to the dining room. Sometimes demanding customers were less of a burden than his nosy friend.

He held out until the end of his shift before he slid his phone out of the front pocket of his cargo shorts. Tucking himself away in a dark corner of the now-empty deck area, Bellamy let his thumb hover over the keyboard. _It’s just a text_ , he chided himself as he stared down at the bright screen. Just as he was about to pull up Clarke’s name, the glass door to the dining room slid open.

Gina popped her head out, brow furrowing as she looked around and saw the uncleared tables. “What’s taking you so long?” she asked with a half-laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re all done inside,” he replied with teasing skepticism.

“And what if I am?”

“Then you definitely had Miller or Echo help you.”

“Actually, it was Murphy.”

He stared her down for a minute before she broke out into laughter. He started too, because that was the least believable explanation she could’ve come up with.

“Nice try,” he said.

She shrugged as she grinned. “One of these days, Murphy _is_ actually going to be helpful. I’ll show all of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. So are you going to help me out here or not?”

“Only if you ask nicer,” she retorted. After only a moment, though, Gina sighed and stepped out and started stacking plates on a nearby table with a soft smile.

Bellamy did the same, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Like he said to Miller, he did live with Clarke after all. He could just talk to her when he got home.

After the restaurant was cleaned up, Miller and Echo tried to get him to stay for a round of drinks, but he waved them off. He thought he saw Miller grin right before he ducked his head and adjusted his beanie. His friend kept his mouth shut, though, and his co-workers only pleaded with him for another few minutes before letting him go.

As usual, the house was dark when he got home. The humidity stuck to the back of his neck even after he walked inside. He rubbed it away as he climbed the stairs. At the top, he instinctively glanced down the hall towards Clarke’s room. There was no strip of light under the door, no faint sounds of Netflix played a little too loud. Even so, he headed that way. It was only when he was right at her door that he hesitated. With his hand half-raised, Bellamy told himself just to knock, to just talk to her.

He didn’t, though. Instead he went downstairs and poured himself a glass of water. He was halfway done gulping it down when he heard tires on asphalt. A few minutes later, keys jangled and the front door opened. He heard loud footsteps, a soft bang, and then Clarke swearing. In the half-lit kitchen, he straightened and padded towards the front hall.

She was standing in the moonlight, rubbing her hip and glaring at the hall side table when he walked in.

“You okay?” He whispered.

She jerked her head up in surprise, but when she saw it was him, she smiled, gaze on him but slightly unfocused. “Hey. You’re home early.”

“Or maybe you’re just home late.”

She snorted, then wavered a bit. He looked her up and down, which she didn’t miss.

“Raven,” she said with a sigh as explanation. “She thought I needed--she wanted to party.”

He nodded, not saying more. Clarke just sighed and closed her eyes, hand still massaging her hip. She didn’t move, so Bellamy did. He moved right up until he was in front of her, close enough to feel her heat and smell the slight scent of alcohol on her. Gently, he nudged her fingers away, pressing three of his own onto her hipbone. She exhaled in relief. Bellamy circled them there for a bit, rubbing away the pain. Then he replaced them with his thumb, his hand resting on the side of her hip. He felt her breath hitch.

When Clarke leaned into him with a content hum, he wrapped his arms around her lower back to pull her close. She turned her face into his chest, pressing her nose right into him. Her hands slid up, fingers curling as she clutched his shirt. Then she said something, but it was so soft and jumbled that he didn’t catch it.

“What?” he murmured into the top of her head.

She spoke again, her words still mostly unintelligible, but she turned her head at the end, enough for him to her, “--miss you.”

Then she sighed and melted into him even more. He stayed there, unmoving. Without the first part of the sentence, he wasn’t sure what she meant. The way she swayed against him, drunk and sleepy, made him hold back from asking her to repeat it again, though. Instead, he held her in the dark foyer for another moment before guiding her upstairs to her bedroom. He left her at her door with a quick squeeze to her hand before going back to his own room alone.

He wanted to talk to her, badly, but not tonight, not like this. They would both being living in the same house tomorrow, too, so he would ask her then.

* * *

It was bad enough that Bellamy had slept through his alarm the next morning, but that he forgot his phone and his wallet made it worse. He had been halfway to The Drop Ship when he realized he didn’t have them. Swearing under his breath, he immediately did a U-turn and headed back to the house. He couldn’t even call Echo to give her a heads up as to why he would be coming in a little late.

When he burst into the house and almost tripped over a set of bags, however--Clarke’s bags--all thoughts of Echo and the pinched, angry expression she would be directing at him all afternoon fled. Bellamy just froze, standing dumbly in the foyer and looking at the beat-up light blue duffle bag and the black backpack next to it. They were both stuffed full, a little bit of bright fabric caught in the duffle zipper, as if they had been packed in a hurry.

Then he heard footsteps that stopped suddenly and a slight intake of breath to his left. He looked up, seeing Clarke standing at the threshold of the hall and foyer. She glanced at him, the bags, then him again, her eyes widening.

Neither of them said anything. Bellamy couldn’t, not when realizations were hitting him so fast and hard. He just watched her, watched her expression settle into something stoic and even. He clenched his jaw, because he should have _known._

“Was Marcus going to tell me you were gone?” He accused. “Or did you leave that up to Octavia?”

“Bellamy,” she said calmly. “I have to go.”

He scoffed. “Right. No, that I get. This isn’t your house. It isn’t ours either. We’re leaving too, and soon. But fuck--you weren’t even going to tell me yourself?”

“Bellamy--”

“Don’t,” he spat. “Travel safe, Clarke.”

He turned on his heel towards the stairs. He took them two at a time as anger bloomed in his chest. Though he found his wallet and phone almost immediately, he waited until he heard the front door shut before he went back downstairs.

Surprisingly, when he left the house, he saw her leaning against the hood of his car. Her arms were crossed over her chest defensively, and he set his shoulders back. When he got closer, though, he noticed a flicker of remorse in her expression. Still, she was leaving, and she hadn’t planned on telling him. Again. He ignored her and went right for the driver door. Clarke was quick though, sliding in front of him and blocking his way.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted as he stood stiffly. “I’m so sorry. I’m just--I just didn’t know how to--”

“Say goodbye?” He said through gritted teeth.

She didn’t say anything, and he reluctantly looked down at her. She was staring at his chest, shoulders hunched and chest deflated.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he could hear the tears in her voice. “I don’t know what to say.”

It pissed him off that even now he wanted to pull her close, to tell her that they’d figure out whatever was going on with her. Bellamy wanted to help her, but if she couldn’t--or wouldn’t--talk about it, then he had to let it, her, _them_ go.

“Go home, Clarke,” he said tiredly. He couldn’t make her stay if she didn’t want to. It would be for the best if she left, for her and for him.

So he stepped back, waiting for her to leave. She hesitated, then dropped her arms and moved forward. Looking up at him--he tried to avoid her gaze, but he couldn’t, not when her eyes were shining with regret and a little bit of pain--she reached up and cupped his jaw. Gently, she rose up, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and whispered, “Goodbye.”

Then she was gone, walking swiftly towards her car. Bellamy watched her pull out of the driveway, not realizing how numb he felt until her car had disappeared around the corner.

After a few moments, he climbed into his own car. Immediately he cranked the music loud. It drowned out everything--memories, frustration, wishes, regret--and helped him make it to The Drop Ship in record time. He stalked into the restaurant, and while Echo started on him about being late, she quickly read his mood and stopped. She just switched to rattling off his table numbers for the day and then went back to answering the phone.

Miller didn’t say a word to him during his shift, just watched him carefully and made sure his tables’ orders were made quickly and as requested. Gina had called in sick, and Murphy was refusing to help out with serving anything but drinks, but that was probably for the best. It was all Bellamy could do to fake enough pleasantness for the customers; he didn’t have any to spare for his antagonistic coworker.

It wasn’t until the lull between the lunch and dinner shifts when he brought in the last bucket of cleared dishes from the dining room that Miller broached his mood.

“Shit, man, what happened?” He demanded as Bellamy loaded up the sink.

“Later,” he grunted. He was working Gina’s shift tonight; he couldn’t--wouldn’t--get into what happened with Clarke when he still had to make it through hours of work.

“Well, drinks on me tonight, then.”

Bellamy paused, looking over his shoulder. Miller stared him down, concern in his expression. Sighing, Bellamy relaxed a bit and nodded.

The second shift was better because it was busier. Managing so many tables kept him from fixating on recalling the sensation of Clarke’s lips brushing against his cheek. Between the juice-spilling toddler at table five, the couple on a terrible first date at table two, and the indecisive older couple at table eight, Bellamy barely had time to breathe, let alone stew. It wasn’t until he had finished bussing the last of his tables after closing that he felt irritation stir again.

He was saved, though, by Miller hustling him to the bar after everything was clean and convincing Murphy to pour them two beers before he headed out. Bellamy downed half of his before giving into his friend’s demand for an explanation. He recounted his goodbye with Clarke quickly, matter-of-factly. When he finished, Miller let out a long, low whistle.

“That’s fucked up,” he added quietly. “Just leaving like that.”

Bellamy bowed his head over his drink and shrugged. “We weren’t a thing. We weren’t anything. And both of us were leaving eventually. It just happened sooner rather than later.”

“Bullshit,” Miller muttered. Bellamy silently agreed with him, but it seemed too much to admit it for real. So neither of them said more, just drank their beers. Silence fell over the empty bar, loaded but comfortable. When they were just about finished, Echo emerged from the back. When she saw them, she slipped behind the bar.

“Another round?” She asked, leaning forward on the counter.

Bellamy shrugged, leaving it up to Miller. He nodded, and Echo refilled their glasses and poured one for herself. “What are we drinking to?”

Again, Bellamy didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a sip, larger than he had planned because Echo was looking intensely between him and Miller. He really fucking did not want to answer that question. Miller shifted in his seat, clearly not wanting to answer either.

And while Bellamy didn’t expect Echo to let it go--that wasn’t like her--he really didn’t expect her to say, “It’s because of Princess, right? She finally went home to her girlfriend and now Bellamy’s got his boxers in a twist.”

He choked on his beer as Miller exclaimed, “What?”

Echo raised her glass to her lips. “What do you mean, what?”

“Clarke has a girlfriend?” Miller pressed as Bellamy wiped his face. After he finished up, he couldn’t do much but stare at his coworker. He heard very clearly what she said, but he was hoping there was some mistake, that he had somehow misunderstood her.

“You didn’t know that?” Echo raised her eyebrows like she didn’t believe Miller. “Bellamy, you knew though, right?”

Bellamy glanced up to see her gazing at him with a sharp sort of fascination. He watched her watch him, growing tenser as the stare-down went on. Finally, he looked down at his beer and said, “No. I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?” Miller asked her. “Because I heard she was dating someone a while ago, from Raven, but I thought that had ended.”

“All I know is what I heard, and I heard that her girlfriend was abroad, and Clarke left because she’s coming home early.”

“So you don’t actually know,” Miller argued.

“What, you think I’m lying?”

“No, I just think everyone in this town likes to talk about shit they know nothing about way too much, and--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bellamy interrupted, jerking his gaze away from the dwindling foam layer on top of his beer. “Really, it doesn’t. So she’s gone. Summer is almost over anyways.”

“Tell that to the tourists,” Miller grumbled. “They’d stick around until October if they could.”

Echo set her glass down on counter. “Look, I didn’t mean to start something. I really thought you knew, that you guys were just fuck buddies and you were cool with being something on the side. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d know you actually had a thing for her.”

“I don’t,” he muttered.

“Now who’s lying,” she shot back.

“I’m not,” Bellamy said as he stood up from the bar stool. “Just like you aren’t. She has a girlfriend; it makes sense now. End of story. And, now, I am going home.”

Before they could protest, he downed his beer in three long gulps and headed for the exit. He got as far as his front bumper before Miller caught up with him.

“I’m driving you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t take more than a few sips of my second. Don’t make a shitty day any worse by being stupid.”

Bellamy didn’t even protest, just nodded and followed his friend to the car. After climbing into the passenger side, he reclined the seat a bit, closed his eyes, and let the alcohol-induced haze take over so he could, for the moment, forget about Clarke Griffin.

* * *

Once Octavia found out that Clarke was gone, and then noticed the bitterness now etched into her brother’s face, she suddenly had a newfound appreciation for her his restraint when it came to Atom. Bellamy didn’t know the half of what had happened between her and Atom, but she didn’t know exactly what had happened between her brother and Clarke either. It didn’t matter; she might not know, but she still _knew_. Whatever happened had hurt--was hurting--her brother. It made her want to drive up to Boston and tell Clarke to stay the fuck away from him, and maybe rip out a chunk of her hair for good measure.

A few years ago, she might have done just that. Now she knew better. Doing something like would make her feel better but it wouldn’t help her brother. So Octavia tamped down the urge to steal his car keys and instead threw herself into getting him to enjoy the rest of their summer. She talked Bellamy into trips to the local ice cream stand on afternoon breaks, wheedled him into going to the beach after work most days, and insisted on them spending Friday night bingeing terrible shows on Netflix. He mustered up enthusiasm, for her benefit Octavia assumed. The longer she kept at it, though, she knew the better chance that it would turn genuine.

Even so, she was a little bit surprised when Bellamy plopped down onto the couch one night and grinned widely at her.

“You’re in a good mood,” she commented, turning down the television volume.

“I am,” he agreed.

“Why?”

“For once, I am the one with the fun plans, not you.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Considering you think watching history documentaries is fun, I’m withholding judgement until I hear said plans.”

“You’re gonna like them,” he taunted. “I promise.”

She gestured for him to continue, but like the dramatic brother he was, he just sat there smiling smugly until she lightly smacked his shoulder. “C’mon. Tell me.”

He took a deep breath and then said, “I talked to Vera today.”

“Okay.”

“And she told me that every year Arkport holds a gala.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Invites are for town members only, no tourists. It’s pretty fancy, but fun, according to her.”

She looked at him skeptically, but he held his hands up. “Hey, I was doubtful too, but I verified with Harper and those two other weirdos you hang out with.”

“You know their names. And you _like_ my weirdos.”

He shrugged with apparent indifference, but she saw through to the amusement underneath. “Anyways, they said it’s actually a cool scene. Dancing, good food, good band, and good people. They’re going too. They go every year. Jasper was already trying to figure out how to sneak you in, because technically we’re not locals, but now he doesn’t have to.” Again, he paused for effect, and she huffed.

“Bell,” Octavia chided. “Spit it out already.”

He reached in his pocket and waved two tickets. “Vera scored us invites.”

At the announcement, she perked up a bit, surprising herself. While she had felt a little disappointed when her friends mentioned the event and how it might be difficult to bring her along, she didn’t think it bothered her all that much. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off the black and gold tickets, feeling a little thrill of excitement go through her. No doubt her brother’s smile had something to do with it too.

That got her thinking, and then she frowned at him. “You hate these kinds of things.”

“No I don’t.”

She made a face at him, and he relented. “Alright, I definitely don’t _like_ them.” He hesitated, then added softly, “But you do.”

“Bell,” she started but he held up a hand to cut her off.

“Vera really wanted you to go, or rather for us to go together. She said it was high time the town considered us their own, especially since she is going to invite us back here every summer for the foreseeable future, if Marcus hadn’t already. Apparently we belong here.”

Octavia laughed at his dry tone, and he joined in. Even so, she had a feeling that sentiment wasn’t as unappealing to either of them now as it would have been at the start of the summer. So she took the tickets out of his hand, tracing the raised swirling gold design with her fingertip.

“Well, as a thank you, I’ll make Harper go shopping for a dress with me instead of you,” she teased.

Bellamy pressed his hands together and raised them to the sky with melodramatic gratefulness. Octavia just flicked his ear, reached for the remote, and turned the volume back up so they could get back to watching her show.

She couldn’t keep a slight smile from forming, though, because a night spent with the town of Arkport actually sounded fun, and that was something she never expected to happen.

* * *

Bellamy tugged on his tie, yet again, as he called up to Octavia, yet again, to get her butt downstairs. They were supposed to leave for the gala fifteen minutes ago.

“Marcus is waiting for us!” he yelled. “We’re gonna be late!”

“ _Coming_!” Her answering shout was muffled, and happy, despite the undertone of exasperation.

He considered ducking outside again to give Marcus and Vera another apologetic shrug, but then he heard his sister running in the upstairs hallway. She clanked down the steps in her heels until she reached the landing. Pausing, she struck a pose and grinned with pride.

Bellamy couldn’t help but smile too, his annoyance fading because she looked nice and, better yet, happy. Her dress was deep purple, strapless with the bottom hem hitting just above her knees. The skirt was made of bunched fabric, little jewels at the places where the folds gathered, and the top sparkled as well, covered in beads.

“O,” he started, a little bit awed at how old she looked, and she laughed. As she bounced down the steps, the foyer light glinted off of her. Bellamy had a hard time deciding if it was reflecting off of her dress or just the brightness she herself was radiating.

“As much as I’d love to hear you go on and on about how absolutely fabulous or ‘all grown up’ I look, we’re running late,” she teased cheekily.

Giving her a look, he tugged on one of the braids in her half-up, curled hair. She stuck her tongue out, and that sight made him relieved to know that under all the glamour, his little sister was still there. Giving him a self-satisfied grin, she whirled away and towards the door. She paused right before ducking out of sight and looked back expectantly.

“Coming?” she drawled.

Bellamy snorted, adjusted his tie one last time, and followed her out the door.

* * *

Above the blast of the band playing at the front of the airy, golden ballroom, Octavia heard Harper giggling. When she turned, she burst out laughing. Jasper, with a drink umbrella clenched horizontally between his teeth, had grabbed Monty and whisked him into a dramatic tango. The two boys strutted up and down the edge of the dancing crowd of finely dressed Arkport residents with no shame, only enthusiasm.

They were a little too rambunctious for their neighbors, so soon the four of them had a little bubble of space all to themselves. Octavia leaned on Harper as her stomach clenched from laughing too hard. Her friend started to hush her--none of them wanted someone over twenty-one questioning why their cheeks were so flushed or spirits were so high--but the rest of her warning turned into hiccups and snorts when Jasper dipped Monty and almost dropped him.

“Oh god, I need to get some air,” Octavia finally managed to get out between laughs.

“Same, and water,” Harper agreed. “Meet you back here?”

“Are they going to be okay by themselves?” Octavia winced, then snickered as the boys swung around to change direction and almost took out a tray of snacks in the process.

“Oh, they’ll be just fine,” Harper said with unrestrained glee as she watched Monty and Jasper hastily back away from the glaring waiter.

With one last laugh and a squeeze to her arm, Octavia slipped away. She took a deep, happy breath, her chest straining against the stiff fabric of her dress. Her hands ran up the smooth, bunched fabric of the bottom part, their touch lightening when she reached the beaded portion. It was a splurge, but Harper probably would’ve held her hostage in the store if she hadn’t bought it. Apparently, it was far too _her_ for her to even think about wearing something else.

She let out a sigh of contented relief when she finally stepped out onto the back deck. There were a good number of guests out there, all much older than her. Octavia didn’t pay them any mind, just walked to the end of the balcony. Leaning on the railing, she tipped her face up to face the night, the cool breeze, the stars. She could smell the ocean, hear the waves crashing on the cliffs in the distance. As she rocked on her heels--borrowed from Harper--she wondered how her brother was doing.

Last time she had seen him had been from across the ballroom, chatting with Vera and some of the town board members easily. It was a far cry from how he had entered the ballroom--sullen, reserved, like he might deck anyone who tried to talk to him. He had even _smiled_ when she saw him last, and it hadn’t been at her (though that smile had brightened when she finally did catch his eye). She laughed under her breath, letting the sound out into the night. Despite himself, Bellamy was good with people. He couldn’t help it, and she only hoped he would start giving people the benefit of the doubt and embrace that charismatic part of himself. It would take him amazing places, if only he stopped getting in his own way.

A bloom of laughter followed by the delicate clinking of expensive glasses jostled her out of her reverie. Noticing her cheeks were not longer warm, Octavia straightened, blew out a breath, and walked back into the ballroom.

When she looked over to where her friends had been, she couldn’t spot them. Frowning, she scanned the room. After two tries, she still hadn’t located them. Steeling herself, she started circling the crowd, turning her head this way and that to peek into all of the side-rooms and alcoves the elegant place had. When she didn’t see them on the perimeter, she wormed her way deeper into the throng, towards the center of the room. Octavia squeezed between group after group, but still saw no sign of Jasper, Monty, or Harper.

The crowd was so thick that in the process of ducking a sudden hand gesture, she crashed into someone. It spun her, and whoever she collided with, in opposite directions. So off balance, by the time she looked up and saw a retreating but familiar back, the muttered over-the-shoulder apology was fading.

“Atom!” She called out, a shock running through her. He didn’t hear her, and after a beat, she launched forward to hurry after him. This time when she wiggled through the crowd, she didn’t avoid or try to be polite. She bumped and knocked and made people part for her instead of the other way around.

Octavia saw a glimpse of him again, his name bursting from her. “Atom. _Atom!_ ”

For a fleeting moment, he seemed to pause, to hear her, but then he was slipping away from her yet again, somehow faster this time. Her heartbeat sped up to match his pace, pounding in her chest. By the time she burst to the other side of the crowd, all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, all she could feel was the anticipation setting her nerves alight.

“Atom,” she cried out when she finally saw him fully. He was dressed in a tux, looking sharp, distant, like someone she didn’t recognize. And when he turned, glancing at her with wide, wary eyes--like he didn’t recognize _her_ , like he didn’t _know_ her--she realized Atom was never who she thought he was. This boy, the one in the tux, standing in front of her, giving her one glance but not a second, the boy who slipped his hand around the small of another girl’s back as she leaned up to peck him on the cheek--no, Octavia didn’t know this boy at all.

It wasn’t until his friends--ones she had never met, she realized with a jolt--turned to look at her with confusion that she had forgotten that she wasn’t invisible. Just because Atom wasn’t acknowledging her didn’t mean others couldn’t see her. As each one of them stared longer at her, Octavia suddenly felt stripped bare. Shivering, she crossed her arms across her middle. The rough scrape of the beading against her arms confirmed that the dress was still there. It didn’t feel like it though, especially when the girl, the one who had kissed Atom--with familiarity, like a habit, like a girlfriend would--glanced over her shoulder. There was no recognition in her gaze, no jealousy, no suspicion, no anger, no sadness, just nothing at all.

And that was when Octavia whirled around and barreled for the door. The tears poured hot and heavy over her cheeks when she thought she heard someone call her name, because it didn’t sound like Atom. She just wanted him to be calling her name, but he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t.

So she kept running, into the night and away from the lies that she had thrived on all summer. Only when she hit gravel, then grass, did she slow her pace. Her heels sunk into the moist ground as she stormed forward. Her cheeks stung, rubbed raw from how many times she wiped still-falling tears away. She wanted to scream, to yell, to call out his name in accusation. She wanted to yell at herself, for how stupid and naїve she had been. She wanted to slip away into the night where no one--not her friends, not her brother, not anyone--would find her. Embarrassment and rage and shame clashed inside her all at once. She reeled from the noise their collision made in her mind and the way their jarring impact made it hard for her to breathe.

When someone touched her shoulder, she gasped and whipped around. Backing away, she wrapped her arms around her hunched middle and blinked through the tears. She felt more well up when she recognized Lincoln. If she had felt bare earlier, it was nothing to now. She was raw, split open, turned inside out, and he was witnessing it all.

“I’m lo-looking for my fr-friends,” she managed to get out between sobs. “Um, they said they were going to--ah, somewhere, the beach--”

Lincoln let her catch her breath before finishing for her. “Ah, right. The Heights.” He said it with such calmness, as if she wasn’t falling to pieces in front of him, and a little bit of her embarrassment faded. Then she registered his words.

“Y-you know about it?” Octavia’s stomach sank again. The last thing she needed was getting herself or her friends into trouble for illegal cliff jumping tonight.

With a soft laugh, he answered, “I grew up here, remember? Jumping from the Heights is a time-honored post-gala tradition.”

“R-really?”

He hummed in confirmation. “Guess who used to hold the record for highest jump point?”

“No way,” she said, voice steadier. She knew he was just trying to distract her, but she welcomed it.

He smiled slightly at her disbelief. “Absolutely.”

“I can’t picture that.” Then she looked at him, strong, solid, and bit her lip. “Never mind. I take that back. I can.”

His deep laugh cut through the night air, right through her vulnerability. Octavia stood a little straighter. “I was supposed to go tonight.”

“With Jasper, Monty, and Harper?”

She tilted her head at him in surprise; he knew her friends names. She nodded, finding it a little amusing that Lincoln ducked his head in sheepishness at letting that slip.

“They’re still inside,” he explained.

Octavia sighed, closing her eyes. She was definitely not going back inside tonight, nor was she going to deign to ask Lincoln to go get her friends for her. The urge to run built up in her again, and she wavered on her feet.

Lincoln cleared his throat. “Do you want me to go get them?”

Octavia pictured their pity. “No.”

“Do you want me to go get your brother?”

“No.” She breathed in shakily.

“Marcus? Vera?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you need a ride home then?”

“No.”

“Then are you planning to sleep out here all night?”

She cracked an eye open, to find him staring at her innocently as if he hadn’t just made a joke. “Maybe,” she said slowly.

Lincoln seemed to be fighting back a smile. “It’s getting chilly at night. You’ll be cold. And it might rain.”

Octavia sighed with a little bit of exasperation and a lot of exhaustion. Suddenly she was too tired to be strong in front of him anymore, especially when his kindness was dissolving the weak front she kept trying to put up. Slumping in defeat, she said softly, “I just want to go home.”

She heard him let out a breath, then step forward. A wave of cologne hit her, and then she felt warm fabric encircle her. Her hands reached up and caught the edges of his jacket now draped across her shoulders. When she opened her eyes fully, Lincoln was already walking away.

He hadn’t said anything in farewell, but as she watched him stride across the lawn, calm but with a purpose, Octavia knew, somehow, that although he was the second guy who had walked away from her tonight, he might be the one who actually came back.

And he did, around ten minutes later, but she didn’t pay him much more attention, because Bellamy was with him. Her big brother was there, and nothing else mattered. She saw his concern turn to pain as he finally realized how raw she was, and then she saw nothing else but his shirt, his tie, the edges of his jacket. Octavia sobbed into him, into his warmth and strength and love, and as she let go, of herself and of Atom, she forgot about anything else other than holding onto her brother.

* * *

Bellamy always used to tease Octavia about how he looked forward to the day when she learned that silence was a virtue. Now, though, as she stormed through the house in furious wordlessness for two days straight, he wanted to take it back. Chattering Octavia was better than this deadly quiet version of his sister. He also knew it wouldn’t last for long, and when the dam on her anger broke, it was going to be ugly.

The trickle started by Monty handing him Octavia’s phone that afternoon. He and Jasper and Harper had finally come over yesterday and spent the night. It was a relief to know that his sister had friends to help her with the shit Atom was putting her through, but it was odd that Monty was coming to him with this.

“Uh, thanks?” he said to the boy as he took the phone.

Monty sighed, then leaned on the kitchen counter. He looked hesitant, but also determined, and so Bellamy pushed away his late lunch and turned to give him his full attention.

“You may want to hide that for a day or two,” Monty said.

Bellamy frowned at him. “I don’t think O is going to appreciate me pulling a parental move right now.”

“She didn’t see me take it. She loses it often enough that she’ll figure that’s what happened. She’ll be fine in a few days, just--”

“What?”

Monty sighed again. “I don’t know how much I should tell you.”

“Just because I have her phone doesn’t mean she won’t find a way to call him,” Bellamy warned. A shot of anger spiked through him at the thought of Atom, but he pushed it down as Monty grimaced.

“Uh, yeah that’s not what she’s doing.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Monty sighed, then finally relented. “She’s gone on a kind of social media rampage. Angry tweets and statuses, messaging Atom, messaging his girlfriend--it’s bad. Not that the dickwad doesn’t deserve it, and apparently the girlfriend already knew and doesn’t care because he’s still with her, but it isn’t helping Octavia.” A sympathetic expression came over Monty’s face. “I’m not saying we know what’s best for her, but she’s getting more and more hurt. I just want her to be okay.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Bellamy considered his words. “She’s going to be pissed if she finds out what you’re doing.”

Monty smiled thinly. “I can take it. Besides, she’s most pissed at Jasper for changing her passwords at the moment, so I’m in the clear for now.”

“This isn’t just going to blow over,” Bellamy warned him. “O doesn’t let things go.”

“I know.” Monty straightened from the counter. “And this isn’t something she should have to let go. I just--she deserves some space that doesn’t have that asswipe in it for a little while. We’re trying to give her that.”

Bellamy watched his sister’s friend intently, still deciding if he should go along with this. Monty didn’t give him the chance, though, just pushed off the counter and walked back upstairs. Staring down at the phone now in his hand, Bellamy exhaled loudly, because somehow, this was going to backfire on him spectacularly. He just knew it.

* * *

Octavia’s phone sat heavy in his pocket throughout his evening shift at The Drop Ship. It was an uneasy weight, and several times he pulled it out, wondering if he should call the house and tell her he had it. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have over the phone, though. So each time he just slipped it back into his pocket and went back to work.

Miller hadn’t said a word about the other night, but Echo kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t seem like worry, more like curiosity. Bellamy ignored her, just took orders and carried plates and bussed tables. If he focused on work--not Octavia, not Clarke--then he finally found peace of mind.

When Echo signaled that it was time for his break, though, he dreaded it. Ten minutes was enough time to call Octavia, or type out a dozen texts to Clarke that he ultimately ended up deleting. Free time was his enemy, but labor laws superseded his need for distraction at the moment. As he passed through the kitchen, Miller was too busy to do more than nod.

Bellamy walked out the back and sat on the steps leading down to the water. The wood was damp, and soon his pants would be too, but he didn’t care. He could still feel Octavia’s phone in his pocket, and he still felt the press of guilt on him as to why he had it. To distract himself, he pulled out his own phone and thumbed around on it. When he paused over the Facebook app, he surprised himself. He hadn’t opened it since the night Clarke had set it up for him.

He only hesitated once before launching it. Too easily he figured out how to search, and before he knew it, he was on Clarke’s page. Her profile picture was the same--black dress, a too-small costume crown, blowing a kiss at the camera. That was all he had seen of her profile, really, and now he hesitated before scrolling more. Eventually he did, and he regretted it.

The first post was a photo, a bit blurry, no doubt because of the excitement of whoever had taken it. It was of Clarke, smiling, mid-laugh, her hair up in a bun and arm slung around another girl. She had light brown hair, long and curled, and a suitcase next to her. The tag read Lexa Woods.

Bellamy closed the app and pressed the phone face-down against his thigh. He stayed like that, staring out at the crashing waves, until Miller hollered for him to come back in for the rest of his shift.

* * *

The next morning, he was waiting for his sister in the kitchen, phone in hand. She didn’t register him at first, but her sneakers squeaked against the tile when she halted at seeing him.

“You’re up early,” Octavia commented. She kept glancing at him curiously as she headed towards the fridge.

Bellamy nodded, then watched her pour a glass of orange juice. When she reached for a banana, he cleared his throat and the set her phone on the counter.

“You had it,” she exclaimed in disbelief, expression pinching angrily.

“O,” he said in a warning tone. “I didn’t take it.”

“I can’t believe you!” she accused, voice rising.

“It’s been a day. And I repeat: _I_ didn’t take it.”

“Sure. Okay.”

“Octavia.”

“What if someone needed to get ahold of me?”

“You don’t need to be talking to Atom.”

Octavia’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I wasn’t talking about Atom.”

“His girlfriend, then?”

Orange juice sloshed on the counter as she set her glass down too hard. “I was talking about my _job_ thank you very much. And it seems you’ve been interrogating my friends now?” she shouted as she moved towards him. She snatched the phone and then retreated to the other side of the counter. Her knuckles turned white from how hard she was clutching it. “Stay out of my business, Bell!”

“They came to me!” he yelled, his irritation at her accusations rising. “They were worried about you. I’m worried too! You--”

“Don’t be,” she sniped, even as tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m not some fragile doll that’s going to break! I’m fine! And at least I’m doing something about being treated shittily, unlike you. You just let Clarke jerk you around all summer and then sit here and stew over it like it’s your fault! Guest what: it’s not. She’s a spoiled rich kid who thought she could--”

“Stop it, Octavia!”

“Then you stop it! Stop treating me like I’m a kid! I’m not your responsibility anymore, Bell, so go out and get your own life so you can stop controlling mine!”

Her last, furious words echoed in the spacious house until the slam of the back door behind her erased them. Bellamy just stood in the kitchen, hands braced on the cold granite counter, breathing heavily and counting to ten to hold his anger--at Octavia, at Clarke, at himself, at this entire summer--in check.

* * *

Bellamy had been sitting in his car for who knows how long after his shift that night when a knock on the driver window made him jump.

“Just me,” Gina said, muffled, bending down a bit with an amused grin. He rolled down the window, and she braced her forearms on the car door. “What are you doing?”

“Heading home,” he answered, trying not to think about how much the Kane house didn’t feel like home anymore.

“You came out here thirty minutes ago.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“So?”

When he sighed again, she let out a small laugh. “Going home doesn’t sound like what you need right now.”

He looked at her curiously, and she grinned. “Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, she rapped on this trunk with her knuckles and called out, “Follow me.”

Bellamy started his car as she got into her Jeep, then tailed her out of the parking lot. After a short drive, they pulled up to a grassy space. When he got out, he realized from the sound of crashing waves below, it was a cliffside. It was dark, no streetlights, so only the moon and the array of bright stars provided them light to see by. Gina spread a blanket out on the ground, then retrieved a flask from her purse. She took a swig then handed it to him with an expectant expression.

“Don’t know if I would say I ‘need’ this,” he commented dryily. Even so, he took a sip, relishing the way the whiskey burned warm-cold down his throat.

“Well, I say you do.”

A chuckle escaped him at her playful tone. He sat with ease when she did, talked with ease, drained the flask dry with ease. And it was just as easy to lean in when Gina did, to kiss her softly, then not so softly as she pulled him down over her. Soon enough, her hands were slipping under his shirt, tugging at his pants, and then Bellamy was tugging her up and towards the backseat of her car. They laughed as limbs got stuck and she bumped her head, but eventually the laughs turned to needier noises as she slid down onto him.

When they both were sated and tired, wrapped up in each other, Bellamy ignored the guilty tugging at his gut. He wasn’t beholden to anybody, and apparently he wasn’t responsible for his sister anymore. He could stay out all night, risk getting caught for public indecency, have reckless _fun_ this summer, finally. So he just wrapped his arms tighter around Gina and listened to her breathe to drown out everything else calling him back to reality.

* * *

Four days, and Octavia hadn’t spoken a word to her brother, and he hadn’t spoken a word to her either. She almost broke the stalemate when she left for her run this morning, to ask him where he was going every night now. His shifts didn’t run that late. Her stubbornness proved stronger than her curiosity, though, so she had left him in the kitchen eating his cereal, without a word.

Maybe that was why she was pushing herself so hard today. Her shoes slammed against the pavement in a way that her track coach would have yelled at her for. Her breathing wasn’t under control, and her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Octavia just ran faster.  
  
She ran faster so she would just hear the rush of blood, the rasp of her inhales and exhales, the slap of her shoe soles instead of the voices. The ones that whispered about her in town no doubt, the ones that probably pitied her, the ones of her friends and her brother, worried and careful, like she was going to shatter at any moment. Louder than all of those, though, was his voice, that just kept playing over and over in her head.

_This isn’t how I wanted to leave things._

_I didn’t want to leave._

_I’ll call you soon to explain._ **  
**  
What a fucking liar he was, and cowardly too. He hadn’t responded to her messages after the gala, not until she messaged his girlfriend too. He tried to excuse his behavior by claiming that his girlfriend and he had been going through a rough patch, that he had made a mistake, that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. His earlier leaving had really been because of his parents, that he _meant_ to call, that he was _floored_ when his girlfriend called him and wanted to work things out, forgave him for cheating, too shocked to know what to do.

When she called him on that bullshit, Atom had gotten defensive, arguing that she had never asked if he was involved with anyone else, that _we weren’t exclusive for fuck’s sake._ He said other, crueler things too. A burst of anger lanced through her middle. She nearly stumbled, then caught herself. One of her knees already ached from road burn when a rock had tripped her up earlier. The pain wasn’t enough to make her stop, though. Not nearly enough.  
  
The rain that began to patter down didn’t make her slow. Instead, she grinned as she picked up the pace again, nearly sprinting down the slick backwoods road. The pavement was more cracked in this area, sloping down on the edges as wetlands began to replace the even forest that had lined the road earlier on. The farther she went, the further the sides sloped. Soon enough the rain was louder than her pulse or her breathing or her pounding footsteps, and she loved every drop. As it streamed down her face, she raised her arms and let out the scream gathering in her chest. Head tipped back, Octavia shouted up at the slate-colored sky with anger and fierceness and the determination to give herself a new beginning.  
  
Then her ankle twisted. Her knees hit the road, then her forearms, and she tumbled, rolled, scratched by stones and branches. Suddenly it was wet, and cold–except for the warmth dripping across her forehead–and her vision clouded. She listened to the sound of her weak breaths and the rain as she gave into the pain and the growing black.  
  
When she woke, she was still wet and breathing weakly but she was also warm. And moving–somehow, she was moving.  
  
She blinked, clearing her vision, eyes widening when she saw who was carrying her. “Lincoln?”  
  
Her hand rested against his chest limply, but when he didn’t answer–didn’t so much as look at her–she dug her fingers into the fabric of her mud-flecked shirt.  
  
“Lincoln.”  
  
He finally glanced down at her, concerned and almost angry.  
  
“My ankle gave out,” she argued.  
  
“You shouldn’t have been running in the rain.” He paused. “Your brother’s going out of his mind worrying once you didn’t come home. We’ve been looking for over an hour.”  
  
Octavia pursed her lips. A lecture wasn’t what she needed right now. An ice pack, some pain killers, and dry clothes would be really nice, though. She added a bandage to the list too as she wiped tacky, semi-dried blood from her forehead.  
  
“Yes. Because I intentionally set out to make him worry.”  
  
“He wasn’t the only one. Worrying.”  
  
She jerked her head up to look at him, a little bit of guilt filling her when she realized how strained his expression was.  
  
“So maybe I should have told someone where I was going.”  
  
He huffed, just barely.  
  
“And checked the forecast.”  
  
She swore she saw his lips twitch, as if fighting a reluctant smile.  
  
“Do you even have a cell phone?” Lincoln asked dryly.  
  
“Yes,” she replied testily. After a pause, she admitted, “But the battery died ten minutes in.”  
  
He sighed, shaking his head. Octavia laughed, but it was cut off by a violent shiver. Suddenly she wasn’t so warm anymore. Instinctively she sought out Lincoln’s heat, pressing her face into his solid chest.  
  
“You’re freezing,” he muttered, then picked up his pace.  
  
“Sorry,” she offered through chattering teeth.  
  
His speed increased even further as Lincoln clutched her a little tighter. Octavia only got colder the longer he carried her, but she felt oddly at peace, because the solid arms around her felt like a promise.  
  
I’ve got you.  
  
She believed it, just like she realized she believed in Lincoln.

* * *

Her brother nearly skidded past the door to her hospital room, panting heavily. Octavia shifted to sit up in the bed. Lincoln stood from the chair in the corner, nodding to the both of them before he left them alone.

“You’re okay,” Bellamy blurted as he rushed to her side. His hands hovered, then smoothed her hair down.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she repeated, sounding less exasperated than she had intended. She didn’t even wave him away.

“Shit, O, you scared me. Where the hell were you?”

She sighed instead of snapping back, because there was no anger in his voice, just deep concern. “The one time I decide not to go running on the beach, I fall. It figures.”

Bellamy huffed, looked her over once more, then pulled her into a tight hug. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” she murmured into his chest. After a beat, she asked, “So how big was the search party you sent out, worry wart?”

He pulled back and frowned at her. “Clearly you are fine if you’re joking around.”

She smiled at him, but he just kept looking at her tiredly. Then she noticed the guilt hiding behind the fear and exhaustion, and her own guilt rose. “Hey,” she said softly, tugging on his shirt. “ _Hey._ I’m okay. Really.”

The tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear, and he was tapping his knuckles against the edge of the bed. Octavia covered his hands with hers and said firmly, “Bellamy, stop that. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t even say goodbye to you this morning, O--hell, I haven’t said anything to you for days now, and then you go and almost--” he cut himself off to glare angrily at the ceiling. Octavia immediately tugged on his wrist to get him to look at her.

“I did not almost die, so don’t be so dramatic. And really, I was the one not talking to you, so I should be the one feeling like shit right now. So I’m gonna scoot over, and you’re gonna lie here with me, and I’m going to say I’m sorry and then we’re going to make up. Alright?”

Bellamy stared at her, and she could tell he was fighting a wry smile. She shot him her best pretty-please expression, grinning when he sighed in defeat.

“Fine. Shove over, you,” he grumbled.

“A fine way to talk to an invalid,” she mocked.

He snorted, but still lay back on the bed next to her anyways. She turned to face him, her amusement fading, and said seriously, “I’m really sorry, Bell. For what I said the other day, and for shutting you out. I’m just--what Atom did hurt so much, and I couldn’t deal. So I’m sorry.”

Bellamy smiled fondly at her, then said, “Already forgiven.”

Something warm settled it her, and it gave her the courage to ask, “Are you okay?”

When he opened his mouth to give the ‘ _I’m fine_ ’ that she expected, Octavia poked his shoulder hard. “No, I want a real answer.”

He poked her back, then sighed. After glancing at her a few times, he finally said quietly, “I don’t know.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He paused, then amended, “Not right now.”

“Okay.” Octavia closed her eyes and smiled as well, finally able to drift off to sleep knowing that her big brother was there for her, and that finally, she could be there for him too.

* * *

She woke the next morning in her own bed and let out a little shriek after opening her eyes. Three faces grinned over at her. When she realized they were familiar, she punched Harper who was lying beside her and chucked a pillow at Monty and Jasper sitting on the edge of the bed. Jasper flailed and fell off.

“You did that on purpose,” she groaned to hide her laughter.

“Did not!”

“Dude, Octavia has a good throwing arm, but she’s not that good,” Monty said. “Though I could believe your weak ass would be taken down by just a pillow.”

Jasper flipped him off, and Harper snorted. She sat up as Octavia did and explained, “We’re here to help you weather your second bedrest stint of the summer.”

“The doctor didn’t put me on bedrest,” she argued.

“Oh, my dear dear friend,” Jasper crooned as he scooted up to sit beside her. “You must _always_ take advantage of an excuse to stay inside and play video games and have people wait on you hand and foot.”

“You’re going to wait on me hand and foot?” she asked suspiciously.

“At your service, your highness.” He stood and bowed.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Like you’re not getting the same excuses out of this. What game do you already have loaded on the console downstairs?”

Jasper grinned guiltily, and they all laughed.

“C’mon, like you don’t want to play,” Monty wheedled.

“Fine, fine, fine!” Octavia relented with a grin. This felt like a second chance, even as her summer was running out, and so she was going to do it the right way this time. “Help me downstairs so I can kick your gaming asses.”

They did as she asked, but she didn’t hold up her end. Every round, she found a quiet way to lose, complaining loudly when she did while hiding a smile all the while, because with friends as kind and loyal as hers were, it was the least she could do.

* * *

Over the sound of the television, Octavia heard the doorbell. A few moments later, her brother called out, “Visitor, O!”

Octavia muted her show and turned, expecting one of the three musketeers. Instead, Lincoln was standing in the living room doorway, a bag in his hand and what looked like easels under his arm.

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“You seemed like you were getting a little stir crazy.”

Octavia tried not to blush as she looked away from his smile to her phone and back. She didn’t think she had been texting him _that_ much in the last three days.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to get around to this all summer anyways. Porch this way?”

Octavia nodded, then reached for her crutches to follow him. By the time she hobbled outside, he was setting up two canvases and paint sets.

“I think you are underestimating my ability to screw up anything remotely artistic,” she warned as she settled into one of the chairs he had pulled up.

“And I think you’re underestimating my teaching abilities,” he teased back.

Octavia gave him a dubious look, but he just grinned back. Then he handed her a paintbrush, which she took with feigned caution.

“It’s not a bomb,” he laughed.

“In my hands, it might as well be. You’re going to regret this,” she sighed with mocking mournfulness.

He just shrugged and told her what color to pick up first.

An hour later, he was looking forlornly at the mess of colorful shapes on her canvas. His displayed a gorgeous if formulaic landscape that she recognized from the gallery’s Paint Night classes, while hers didn’t even resemble anything concrete.

“I told you!”

“Even Vera’s ladies managed this one,” he said in disbelief.

Octavia let out a bright laugh. “Let’s just call it abstract.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe a different--”

“Lincoln,” she interrupted. “I’m good at a lot of things, but art is not one of them.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Something in his soft, determined voice, and in his twinkling eyes, made Octavia’s chest feel warm. She turned back to the painting so Lincoln couldn’t see the pleased expression on her face and replied, “I guess we will.”

* * *

As he drove to The Drop Ship in the dusky evening light, Bellamy wondered if he was making a mistake. Lincoln had been over almost every evening this week, bringing Octavia a new form of artistic entertainment. At least photography had caught her interest and was far less messy than the sculpting endeavor they had tried a few days ago. Octavia was happy, and Lincoln was trustworthy--even if he wasn’t subtle about why he spent so much time at their house now. Still, Bellamy had left his sister to her own devices with Atom, whom he thought he could trust, and she had gotten hurt. So he couldn’t help but feel a little bit as if he was letting history repeat itself.

Pulling into the parking lot, he shook off his worries. Lincoln wasn’t Atom, and Octavia wasn’t the same girl she had been at the beginning of the summer. Experience was a hard teacher, but she somehow was weathering the heartbreak. Bellamy sometimes wished he felt as strong as she seemed, wished he could have as easy a second start as she seemed to be.

He was at least trying to, anyways. He was here, at The Drop Ship, on his day off, waiting to pick Gina up from her afternoon shift. They would mostly likely drive along the coast for a while, then loop back around to her place to spend the night. That had been their pattern for over a week now. They didn’t talk about it, what they were. There was no need. He was leaving, and she knew that. It was easy, Bellamy kept telling himself, and easy was how it was supposed to be.

After looking at the clock--she was running late--he turned off the car and climbed out. Thumbing through his phone to see if he missed any messages, Bellamy started walking inside. So focused on that, he barely registered someone calling out his name.

When he looked up, he stopped dead. Clarke stood up from the bench to the right of the restaurant door and walked towards him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said a little breathlessly.

Bellamy just stared at her. Her tentative smile faded. He still couldn’t find any words, and a strained expression came over her face.

“I need to talk to you.”

He exhaled through his nose loudly, indignant. “Really.”

“I know I haven’t been fair, but I’ve figured some things out--”

“Have you?” The words were biting, and he didn’t regret the way they landed sharply with her. “Glad to hear it.”

“If I can just explain--”

“No, Clarke. No. You figured things out now, weeks after you snuck out on me with a non-explanation, for the second time this summer by the way. Why should I care?”

“Because you deserve a reason, even though I screwed up. Especially because I screwed up.”

Bellamy tried to walk away from her, he really did, but there was so much genuine apology in her expression that he couldn’t bring himself to. Finally, he managed to get out through gritted teeth, “You should have told me you had a girlfriend.”

Her eyes went wide with shock, in a way that surprised him, and she blurted, “I don’t--I mean, I did, but not in the way--”

He shook his head to cut her off, but she stepped closer, looking determined. “She and I weren’t together this summer, Bellamy. We haven’t been together in any real sense for months.”

“I’ve heard different.”

Clarke sighed, sounding tired. “I’m not explaining this well. Last year, Lexa--”

The sound of footsteps approaching had them both turning. Gina was approaching, watching them both closely.

“Hey, Clarke,” she greeted, then moved to Bellamy’s side.

He watched as Clarke noticed, then stepped back with a shuttered expression. “Hi, Gina. Just stopping by to tell Echo that Raven should be able to start working again next month.”

Gina went a little tense beside him. “She’s out back, yelling at Miller about something.”

Clarke nodded, then glanced at him once more before turning on her heel to go inside.

“Everything okay?” Gina probed as they walked to his car.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

She didn’t say anything else, though Bellamy wished she would. Clarke’s unfinished explanation echoed in his mind, tugging and picking at his curiousity. It wasn’t until he pulled out onto the road along the coast that he realized the feeling blooming in his chest was hope. He reached over to grab Gina’s hand, but the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his didn’t squash the sensation like he thought it would.

She was more quiet than usual during their drive, and he wondered if he was being that obviously. She still asked him to come home with her though; they still ate dinner and almost fell asleep watching TV with her head in his lap. They still kissed the way to her room, still shed their clothes before climbing into bed together. It wasn’t until after, lying on top of the sheets, damp from the exertion and the humid air, that Gina finally voiced the trepidation he had been feeling all night.

“You’re not over her, are you?”

Bellamy rubbed his hands over his face before turning to face her. Her expression was neutral, not angry or sad like he had expected. “I don’t have a good answer.”

“But you do have one,” she pressed.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly after a beat. “I don’t know if I’m over her.”

She shot him a wry half-smile as she propped her head up on her hand. “Did you even try?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. _No_ was the answer, and they both knew it.

“Hey.” She tapped him on the nose until he opened them again. “Don’t beat yourself. For the record, I knew what I was getting into with you. And...you aren’t the only one trying to get over someone here.”

That caught his interest. “What?”

Gina didn’t elaborate, and he just waited patiently. Eventually, she blew out a breath and flopped onto her back. Quietly, she said, “Raven.”

“Really?”

“We were...starting something right around the time of her accident. Once that happened, she didn’t want to speak to me, to even see me. I got pissed off because I wanted so badly to be there for her, but she wouldn’t let me help her. She let everyone else, but not me. I was hurt and angry and stubborn and I stopped trying to get through to her, and I shouldn’t have. And now she’s coming back, and we’re going to have to work together and--” Gina cut herself off, breathing a little heavily. Then she turned to look at him with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I really shouldn’t have unloaded like that. It’s weird, given...” she motioned between the two of them.

“I think it makes this less weird, actually.” He paused. “Though you might want to stop hooking up with people from work. Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern.”

She laughed, softly, and Bellamy smiled at her. “Would it be too weird if I still spent the night?”

“No, because you still need to cover my shift on Friday, and if you crash your car into a tree driving home this late, that would be inconvenient for me.”

He chuckled, then reached over for his clothes. “Gonna take the couch, though.”

“Mmm, more room for me,” Gina mumbled as she splayed out across the bed, pulling the sheet up over her. “Blankets are in the hallway closet.”

Bellamy laughed quietly once more before leaving, still reeling from their conversation. He played it over in his mind as he settled onto the couch, and realized the answer he had given her earlier-- _I don’t know_ \--wasn’t a truthful one.

He wasn’t over Clarke, not by a long shot, and he had no fucking idea what he was going to do about it.

* * *

“Sit down.”

Octavia groaned, easing back into the chair behind the gallery’s front desk. Lincoln hadn’t even turned around from hanging some new pieces, but he still caught her trying to stand. “I’m fine,” she protested. “Even Bellamy doesn’t hover this much.”

He threw her a skeptical look over his shoulder and she sighed. “Okay, maybe he does, but I come to work so I can get away from that.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the deal: you could come back to work, but only if you kept to the desk.”

“That’s before Mrs. Sydney decided she wanted to buy a second painting. You know she was in _three_ times yesterday?”

“At least you don’t have to tour her around,” he grumbled.

Octavia stared at him in delight, because that was the worst she’d ever heard him talk about a customer. “She finally got to you!”

“Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Nope. It’s locked in now. I’m never going to forget.”

Stepping away from the painting, Lincoln gave it one last assessment before walking over to the desk. He laid his palms flat on the surface, and leaned over her slightly. He was smirking as he said, “If you promise to forget it, I might be convinced to let you into the stockroom tomorrow.”

“That’s bribery,” she countered, propping her chin on her hands and grinning up at him in challenge.

He shrugged. “Like you’re above taking it.”

His brash comment made her laugh. Then she stood until her gaze was level with his. They were only a foot apart, enough for her to breathe him in, but she didn’t close the gap. Three months ago, she would have, but now she was relishing the slowness of what was growing between them. So, instead, she grinned at him and said, “Agreed.”

* * *

Lincoln kept his word and gave her some filing work to do in the stockroom the next day. Octavia kept hers too, though she did call out his name extra brightly when their least favorite customer showed up for another session of picky browsing. She also pushed the envelope while he was occupied with Mrs. Sydney, moving paintings around and organizing the shelves even though Lincoln had warned her not to overexert herself. And though her re-injured ankle was sore at the end of the day, she was more than satisfied with her work.

Lincoln was happy with it too, even if he hid it underneath a disapproving frown. “You promised you wouldn’t push yourself.”

“I didn’t.”

Pointedly, he glanced down at her feet.

She lowered the foot she was favoring, smiling up at him even as her ankle throbbed. “Doesn’t hurt a bit. And now you don’t have to stay late to catalog the new shipment.”

Lincoln sighed, then uncrossed his arms. “I want to say thank you, but I feel like that would only encourage you.”

“You’re welcome,” she chimed. “Now come on. We both deserve a reward for a hard day’s work.”

That took him by surprise, and she smiled as she backed out of the stockroom. He followed, like she knew he would. Octavia managed to hobble on her airboot through the town square to the ice cream shop without issue, even stood in line pain-free as she talked and joked with Lincoln. Her ankle grew worse, though, as they ate while walking to the waterfront. It was only when they were walking down the pier stairs that she finally stumbled at a painful twinge in her ankle.

“I knew it,” Lincoln said softly. He halted her when she tried to keep going. “Stop. Hold this.”

He shoved his cup of chocolate cookie dough at her. It surprised her that he wasn’t making her go back to the store to sit. Then he turned around and said, “Hop on.”

With a delighted laugh, Octavia obliged. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders, careful not to drop their ice cream. His arms came around her legs steadily, sweeping her up onto his back. Easily he carried her down the steps and across the sand until they reached the water’s edge.

He slowly eased her down, but in his care to not jolt her ankle, neither of them paid attention to the desserts in her hand. The whipped cream from her strawberry sundae hit his nose as she unwrapped her arms from around his neck.

“Sorry!” she called out. He turned to face her, amused. She laughed when he tried to lick it off. Quickly she reached up, collected the cream with her finger, and, without thinking, popped it into her mouth.

“Taste good?”

Her cheeks flushed at his voice, because it was a little deeper, a little less steady than usual. “Yeah. Really good.”

Swiftly he reached down and grabbed his own swab of whipped cream from her sundae, grinning as she huffed indignantly. When he tried for another taste, she jerked it out of reach. “You have your own, you know.”

“I know.”

He took his back, still smiling. She watched him take a few bites and stare out happily at the ocean horizon. A sudden wave of melancholy bowled her over, because she only had two more weeks here before she started college.

“Hey Lincoln,” she said suddenly.

He turned and acknowledged her. She almost didn’t say the rest, because he was so close, and her question would be a risk. She had already risked a lot this summer, but this one--this one she knew was worth taking. Taking in a deep breath, she continued, “You said your Aunt Indra has a gallery in the city.”

“Yeah, in the South End.”

“You visit there ever?”

“A fair amount.” He was turning even closer now, his free hand brushing against hers.

“So you could visit me then, too.”

“Octavia.”

“Is that a yes?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was too impatient. With a little huff, she grabbed the front of his shirt, popped up onto her good foot, and kissed him. It was light, and sticky from the ice cream, and over before she could really get a taste of him. Still, it was enough, because he kissed her back. She grinned, opening her eyes to see him looking at her softly. Wobbling a bit--standing on one foot wasn’t easy--Octavia leaned into him to catch her balance.

“You alright?” he asked with a hint concern.

“No, because you haven’t answered my question,” she teased, letting only a little bit of her nervousness break through into her voice.

Lincoln laughed, then wrapped her up tight. “That’s a yes, Octavia. Definitely yes.”

She smiled into his chest, letting both his warmth and the heat of the setting summer sun soak through her. There may only be two weeks of summer left, but here, in Lincoln’s arms, Octavia felt as if it might never end.

* * *

As Bellamy pulled out of The Drop Ship for the last time of the summer--as an employee, at least--he couldn’t stop grinning. He had given his notice earlier than planned. That was mostly Octavia’s doing, as she convinced him that they both deserved a little vacation before leaving Arkport behind for the city in two weeks. _One paycheck isn’t going to make_ that _much of a difference_ , she had pleaded two nights ago, then added with a devious grin, _at least not when compared to what quality sibling bonding time is worth._ Bellamy merely looked at her skeptically because he was sure not all of her time in the next weeks would be spent with him. While she was sincere in her motivations, she was also playing the family time angle to distract him from the fact that she and Lincoln had sorted things out--finally. Or rather, moved far past sorting things out, if Bellamy catching them on the couch the other day was any indication.

Still, the wind blowing through his open car windows as he drove home in the sweltering late afternoon sun smelled like freedom. He breathed in deep, enjoying the mixed scent of salt and cut grass. Soon it would be replaced by exhaust from buses, the dankness of subway stops, and half a million people. He was going to take advantage of the fresh air--and the remainder of his temporary fresh start--while he could.

So wrapped up in the moment, Bellamy didn’t notice the other car in Marcus’s driveway until he had parked. When he finally recognized it, he almost got back in and drove back to the restaurant to tell them he changed his mind. Working sounded pretty good right about then, when compared to facing who waited him inside.

_Clarke._

Instead, Bellamy steeled himself and walked into the house. His sister’s voice echoed from the kitchen, and trepidation filled him. When she laughed softly, though, confusion took over, and a little bit of relief. It seemed Octavia wasn’t tearing Clarke a new one for whatever she thought she had done to him. Taking that as a cautiously hopeful sign, Bellamy blew out a breath and moved into the kitchen to face them.

Octavia didn’t stop telling her story, just threw him a smile and a nod of acknowledgement. Clarke, however, couldn’t look away once she saw him. She bobbed her head as if she was listening to his sister, but Bellamy wasn’t hearing a word. He doubted she was either. It wasn’t until Octavia said loudly, “I’ll just go find something else to do then.”

She hopped off the barstool at the counter, gave a firm look at Clarke, a soft one at him, then hurried upstairs. A flicker of exasperation at the way she moved a little too carelessly on her still-injured foot passed through him. The sound of Clarke clearing her throat though replaced it with a burst of apprehension..

“Outside?” he managed to say.

Clarke nodded jerkily. They both stepped towards the back door, then paused, hesitating as they waited to see who would go first. Bellamy finally took the lead and pushed open the screen door. He leaned against the porch railing, back to the ocean. Clarke just stood in the middle of the wide deck, arms folded against her chest. Her face was a little pink, maybe from a sunburn, maybe from something else. If they were on better terms, he would tease her about how it matched the color of her t-shirt, which hung loose over cutoff jean shorts. Instead, Bellamy stared at the grey siding of the house, just waiting for her to explain what the hell she was doing as his home.

“The other day,” she started quietly but firmly, “I said you deserved an explanation. And you still do. So I’m here, if you want to hear it.”

He clenched his jaw, but then exhaled and released the tension. His curiosity--and to his chagrin, a rare optimism--had won out. Nodding, he crossed his arms and let her talk.

“My sophomore year of high school, I came out as bi. It wasn’t as hard as I was expecting, but still...I got the usual gross comments from kids at school and some relatives. And while my parents were pretty great and did their best, I didn’t have a lot of people who really got what I was going through. But then I met Lexa. She was so sure about who she was, not just when it came to her sexuality but about everything else too, and it blew me away. I wanted that, and she helped me so much. She was so straightforward about wanting to be with me, and I fell for her, hard, and we got so swept up in each other. We even talked about only applying to colleges in the same cities, because of course we were going to be together past high school.”

A knowing, sad smile flashed across Clarke’s face. Bellamy dropped his arms, bracing his hands on the railing behind him. “We all think that our firsts are going to be forever,” he commented softly, remembering Roma’s soft brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.

She let out a short laugh that didn’t sound amused. “We didn’t think it. We _knew._ ” She breathed deeply and, as if without thinking about it, walked over to sit in one of the white rocking chairs. “And then senior year came. Everything between us just seemed so _certain_ , that I never talked about what we had planned with her. I knew what our plan was. College, together. Life after college, together. Just a life together. And then I found out Lexa had changed the plan.”

Bellamy watched Clarke carefully. There wasn’t pain in her expression, or regret, just a sort of easy resignation.

“She never submitted her college applications. College wasn’t for her, she told me, not right then. What was she going to get out of more school when she didn’t know what she wanted to do, or what the world was like and how she wanted to change it? She had decided to take a gap year, doing a Peace Corps-like program. I couldn’t even let myself be angry at her because I was already terrified of how much I was going to miss her. We fought for months about it, because I said I would go with her, but she said she didn’t want me to change my plans for her, that it wouldn’t be what I wanted. She was right, and we both knew it,” Clarke said wryly. “It wasn’t right for me, but then I wondered, was _she_ still right for me?

Neither of us knew, and I wasn’t ready to let her go. So she did it for the both of us. She broke up with me because she didn’t want me waiting on her. She left right after graduation and I didn’t reach out to her for months, but then my first few weeks at college were so terrible and I was so lonely that I wrote her a letter telling her everything I wished I had said before she left. So we started talking. I made friends and started fitting in, and she kept traveling, and we kept writing. It was a comfortable habit. She would ask if I was dating anybody, and I would ask if she’d figured out how to save the world yet. We were trying to be just friends but to me, it felt like more. And I wasn’t waiting for her, but I also was. At least, until I met you.”

Bellamy froze. Clarke glanced up at him hesitantly from the spot on the wooden floor she had been staring at. She didn’t look away when she continued, “From the first moment I was with Lexa, I knew what I felt for her. But you--Bellamy, I just, you just…” she trailed off, unable to hold back a slight smile. “You turned me inside out, and I didn’t know who I was anymore when I was around you, but I think...I think you just showed me who I was becoming, who I wanted to be. I was trying for so long to hold onto something, someone that was long gone that I got so lost. You gave me that chance to find myself, and by the time I realized it, I was already in deep when it came to you.”

He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. “Why’d you leave?”

“Which time?” Clarke asked, a little embarrassed.

He raised his eyebrows at her, but kindly. She sighed, and nodded with a small, understanding smile.

“The first time was just about school. I had a fight with my mom because she pulled some strings and signed me up to work at Arkport General without my permission, and then I had to tell her I was reconsidering pre-med...and it turned into this whole thing. You know that part. Which is why I left, to go visit my friend Wells for a while. He talked me round into seeing that I was overreacting. Still, when I came back, I stayed with Marcus because one, I needed space from my parents, and two...well, I knew you were staying there.”

“You said you didn’t know,” Bellamy said slowly.

Her cheeks flushed to red. “Yeah. I lied. Because, um.” She flicked a glance at him. “Like I said, I was in the deep end.”

Bellamy felt his own face warm. “Okay.” Then he pressed on. “And leaving the second time?”

“You and I were a lot, for me. What I felt--feel--for you, it was so much, so fast. Everything was shifting all at once, and then I got a call from Lexa. She was coming home in a few weeks and wanted to talk, about us. I didn’t think there was an us anymore, and it threw me. I panicked, thinking she hadn’t meant to break up with me, or that she thought we had gotten back together. I didn’t know what to tell you, because I knew what I wanted, but I also knew it wasn’t fair to promise you something when I still had to finish things with Lexa. So I left.”

While she had blurted most of it, her last words were quiet, ashamed. Silence fell right after them. Bellamy watched her, the way she fidgeted in her seat, not looking at him. Her shoulders stayed upright and strong though. His mind reeled as he absorbed her explanations; the pieces of them that hadn’t fit before fell into place. Uncertainty filled him, because he understood her actions now, but he didn’t know if he accepted them.

“We’re not together,” she finally said. “Lexa and I. Not now, haven’t been since she left. That’s for sure.”

This time Bellamy was the one who stared at the floorboards, too overwhelmed to meet her eyes. He saw Clarke’s feet shift back, as if she was leaning forward in her seat.

“She wanted to talk because she met someone abroad. Her name’s Costia, and Lexa is in love with her. I recognize it, because it’s how she used to be with me.” There was no wistfulness in her voice, no sorrow. Just evenness, certainty, and a tinge of contentment. “They’re doing another year with the program, and she used her brief leave at home to tell me. To make sure I was okay, that we were clear on where we stood.”

“And where do you stand?” The question spilled from him without thought. He bit his lip, wishing he could bite the words back instead.

“I told her that I had moved on too,” Clarke said softly. “That I was in love with somebody else.”

Bellamy jerked his head up to find her looking at him resolutely, lips parted as if she had something else to say. She didn’t continue though, and with an anxious expression, she just watched him, waited. He couldn’t find words, because now he was the one feeling so much, feeling that this was so fast. As usual, Clarke was bowling him over, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let her sweep him away again. The pause stretched, and the call of seagulls over the whoosh and rush of the waves beyond the dunes grew louder with each second of silence.

Finally, Clarke stood. “I’m all in, Bellamy, when it comes to you. I’m not running, not this time, but I am going to give you some space. It’s the least you deserve.” She wavered as if wanting to come closer to him, but then she changed her mind. Softly, she finished, “Call me if you decide you want to give this another shot.”

Right before she went inside the house, she glanced over a shoulder. She shot him a hesitant smile, then disappeared inside before he could even blink.

Not even five minutes passed before Octavia burst out onto the porch. “So what did she say?”

Bellamy had no idea how to even begin explaining. After struggling for a minute, he managed, “A lot. She said a lot.”

“Good a lot, or bad a lot?”

He narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Not sure.”

She narrowed her eyes back. “Bell.”

“O.”

With a heavy sigh, she threw her hands up in the air. “I’m trying to be supportive here, and you are _not_ helping.”

A gruff laugh escaped him, but Octavia just pursed her lips in determination. “C’mon, tell me.”

Pushing off the railing, he just headed for the kitchen.

“Tell me, Bell. Please?”

“No.” He poured himself a glass of water.

“Tell me.”

He took a sip and shook his head.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“You are _annoying_ ,” he pronounced, walking into the foyer.

Octavia followed him upstairs, into his room. Her foot didn’t slow her down a bit, and he knew her questions wouldn’t stop either. So with a sigh, he sat on the edge of his bed and held up his hands in defeat. Surprisingly, instead of celebrating her victory with a grin or a shoulder shimmy, his sister simply sat down next to him and waited in patient silence.

With a wary glance, he began explaining. Octavia listened, only interrupting with a question here or there. It unsettled him, how calm she was, and after he finished, she just stared at the door thoughtfully.

“So,” she finally said. “Clarke apologized. She explained. She gave you time to think.” A pause, and then she declared, “I approve.”

“Good to know,” he said dryly. “That answers everything.”

“What? Okay, she did some shitty things, but what counts is that she _knows_ and is trying to fix it.” His sister paused, face tightening. “Not everybody does that. Some people make up excuses and still expect forgiveness.”

A pang of sympathy went through him. While his sister was happier every day that she was with Lincoln, Bellamy knew that the scars Atom had left on her heart were still tender. He also knew that what she was saying now--these calm, wiser-than-her-years reassurances--were another consequence of that heartbreak, one that he hadn’t expected but could appreciate.

After a quiet beat, she continued, “And it seems like Clarke doesn’t expect you to run right back to her, which is a healthy thing. Even though I know you want to.”

Bellamy reached over and pinched his sister’s thigh. “I do not.”

Octavia snorted. “I didn’t mean it like it’s bad. You love her.” She shrugged. “You’re pissed at her, sure, but you still love her. You don’t have to forgive her, but it’s okay if you want to and if you do. And summer is ending, big brother. You can’t take forever to decide.”

“She and I will both be in Boston, O. It’s not like we’ll be half a world away.”

She turned to him with a serious expression. “Yeah, you live in the same city. But you take a month to adjust, then get busy with a new job, a new life, bothering me at college---” She shot him an impish grin, but then grew solemn again. “Suddenly it’s been six months, and then you might as well be half a world away from each other.”

“That’s one scenario.”

Octavia moved her hand to cover his and squeezed. “All I’m saying, Bell, is think about it. Maybe don’t miss another chance with her, not when it’s right there in front of you.”

Bellamy squeezed back. “For you, I’ll think about it.”

His sister hummed happily, then rested the side of her head on his shoulder. “Just know that if she seriously fucks up again, I’ll be gunning for her.”

That made him chuckle, and she let out a soft laugh too. “Love you, O.”

“Love you too, big brother.”

* * *

Bellamy spent the next few days not thinking about Clarke. Octavia kept him too busy for that: driving here, going there, trying to squeeze in all the little things they hadn’t done all summer. They bought things for her dorm room, browsed Craigslist for apartments he could rent, and stalked her new roommate on Facebook--though that was more her than him. It wasn’t until she declared the rest of their two weeks ‘fun time only’ that Clarke slipped back into his thoughts.

Between days spent at the beach, in the car driving aimlessly, or hanging out with Miller, he turned what she had done, and what she had said, over and over in his mind. Bellamy thought of what others thought of her: Echo’s muted hostility, Raven’s loyalty, Miller’s sarcasm that masked fondness. He considered his sister’s advice against the frustrated whispers in his mind that he shouldn’t let Clarke off the hook.

Those voices grew fainter and fainter as the days slipped by, though, and before he knew it, one week had passed. Time was slipping through his fingers faster than sand. He found himself reaching for his phone unconsciously, more and more. Bellamy hadn’t even realized he had made his decision until he found himself hitting ‘s _end’_ on a message to Clarke late one afternoon.

Less than an hour later, he was sitting on the beach, waiting for a message that she was up at the house. He kept checking his phone, cursing himself each time for it because he would hear it when it came.

So focused on that, Bellamy didn’t hear the soft footsteps in the sand until they were right behind him. Turning, he looked up and saw Clarke.

“Hey,” she said softly. Even in the dwindling daylight, her hair was bright, and as usual, half falling out of a bun. She smiled at him, tentatively. “I figured you’d be down here.”

He stood, dusting sand off his cargo shorts. “Good guess.”

She nodded, shifting on her feet, that hesitant smile still on her face. He felt himself grin a little bit too, then ducked his head, feeling foolish.

“Did you mean it?” she finally asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.

Bellamy glanced up immediately. Clarke had her arms wrapped around her middle, and she was almost bouncing a little. Whether it was nerves or happiness, he couldn’t tell. Taking a step closer, he answered, “Yeah. I’m in. All in.”

She bit her lip, let out a little giddy laugh, but didn’t have time to do more, because Bellamy was pulling her in for a kiss. One hand on her waist, one cupping the back of her head, he told her what he couldn’t say out loud: he forgave her, he loved, he was going to try his damndest to make them work. Clarke responded in kind by arching into him and parting her lips. He deepened the kiss as her her hands slid up his chest and her arms wrapping around his neck. Feeling her smile, he couldn’t help but do the same.

Quickly, he locked his arms around her waist and lifted her up to eye level. She shrieked a little at the change, and he laughed. They broke apart, laughing softly, breathlessly. Her hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing idly across his cheeks. After looking at him with bright, joyful eyes for a moment, Clarke dropped her head to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. When she sighed happily, he did tas well, holding her until she wiggled to get down.

They didn’t say much else, just turned towards the ocean to watch the sunset. Bellamy stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle, and pulled her back into him. He kissed her temple, and she rested her hands on top of his, tracing idle shapes with her forefinger. Feeling her breathe against him, he smiled, and they watched the last sliver of orange dipped below the dark blue water, together.

* * *

As it turned out, Bellamy didn’t mind too much when Octavia took off to spend time with Lincoln during their last week, because he got to spend those hours with Clarke. His sister held nothing back when she teased him about that fact, and he only half-feigned irriation at the ribbing. Even so, he still found plenty of time to spend with Octavia as their remaining days of free of responsibility waned.

On their last night in Arkport, Marcus made them dinner. Vera was there, and it was surprisingly fun, not fraught with any of the tension from last time. Bellamy even managed to take Marcus up on his offer of helping to find him a job in the city, with only a little bit of resistance. He also made sure, later, while he helped him clear the table, to take him aside and thank him.

“This summer was--it was nothing like I expected, but we couldn’t have gotten through it without you and your generosity,” Bellamy said quietly, not wanting to disturb Vera and Octavia laughing in the other room. “So, thank you, very very much.”

He stuck out his hand, and Marcus gave him a fondly exasperated look. Instead of shaking it, he simply pulled Bellamy into a tight hug. After a beat, Bellamy returned it.

“Anytime you or your sister need help, I’m there for you,” he said with a clap to the back before pulling away. “You just have to ask.”

Then he gave him a mocking stern look, and Bellamy laughed, nodding. “I will, if we do. I promise.”

“Good. Now let’s get back to those two before they get into too much trouble.”

The night slipped by almost without them noticing, and they went to bed with bleary eyes, full stomachs, and fuller hearts. Morning came fast and bright, and it was a blur of gathering bags and running back and forth for forgotten items. Finally, they were packed up, keys in Bellamy’s hand as he slammed the trunk of the car shut. Turning, he found Octavia at the top of the beach stairs, looking out at the ocean one last time.

“O! Time to go!”

“C’mere.”

Sighing, he jogged over. His sister turned when she reached him. “I want you to look at something.”

“What?”

She gestured him closer, until he was right at her side, the beach at their back. Then she held her phone out at arm’s length in front of them and raised it to eye level, but he couldn’t see the screen from the glare of the sun.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” he repeated.

Octavia just poked his side and said, “Smile!”

He did, without thought, and then he heard the click of the camera.

“O,” he groaned. “No selfies. You know my rule.”

“Hey, we gotta remember this summer!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t keep from smiling at the same time. “Somehow, I don’t really think we’d forget this one.”

Octavia laughed in agreement before she bounced back to the car. He followed with light steps, not even minding that she had the radio station cranked up way too loud when he climbed in. As the car started, they waved one last time to Marcus and Vera on the front porch. He turned the car around, and they drove down the driveway, Octavia propping her feet up on the dash and humming along to the music.

They pulled smoothly out onto the road, the sun bright above them. With one hand on the wheel, the other dangling out the open window, Bellamy watched the sights of Arkport blur past them. The smells and sounds tugged him back even though he knew there was nowhere to go but forward. It was strange, the familiarity of it; it was even stranger knowing that they would be back, because they had found a kind of home here.

As they sped through the town, getting closer to the highway with each mile, his sister’s singing grew quieter. Finally, when they reached the final turn that would put Arkport behind them, he stopped the car and turned to his sister.

“Summer’s over,” he said. “You ready?”

“Not yet,” she replied. Then she closed her eyes, turned her face up to the sun, breathed in deep: once, twice, three times. He joined her on the last one, only opening his eyes when she added, “Now I am.”

He smiled. “Next stop, Boston.”

Octavia let out a happy whoop, turning her head to grin at him. “Floor it, big brother.”

Bellamy just smiled and stepped on the gas.

**Author's Note:**

> I would so, so appreciate it if you would comment on this fic - this story is one I've invested the most time in for the last six months, and hearing feedback would make me so happy :) 
> 
> Also: special thanks to HawthorneWhisperer for beta-ing the majority of this fic - couldn't have gotten it done without you *hugs forever*


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